Days of Courage, Nights of Pain: The Story of My Time in a Mental Institution
By: Catherine Moscatt
Catherine is a 20 year old counseling and human services major. Besides poetry, she enjoys playing basketball, listening to loud music and watching terrible horror movies.
Published 12/07/17
Published 12/07/17
Day One:
My first night in the mental institution was hell. I was in a double but I had the room to myself for which I was grateful. I didn’t need to be sharing my space with some nutcase on top of everything else (I was dimly aware that the term “nutcase” could arguably encompass me as well). My bed was right beneath the window, giving me a view of the courtyard. I kept imagining forcing open the window, leaping out and running until my legs gave out under me. It scared me that even though I had checked myself in I could not simply just walk out.
There was something known as the “72 hour notice” where you can let the hospital know, in writing, you wish to leave and they have only 72 hours to hold you before getting a court order. 72 hours! I didn’t think I could last an hour
I also resented the severe lack of privacy. Nurses kept poking their heads into my room throughout the night when they were doing rounds which made it very hard to fall asleep much less cry like I wanted to do. Eventually, I fell asleep in a fetal position, eyes squeezed shut but tears leaking out of them anyway.
The next morning began with breakfast where they gave me so much food I couldn’t even finish it.
“You have to eat” one very thin woman at my table said “If you lose too much weight they send you to another, more archaic floor. Besides if you are too thin, the antidepressants won’t work”
I met several people at breakfast including one woman named Maggie who I got to talking to on the med line. She has borderline personality disorder, like myself. I never met someone else who was diagnosed in person before and I instantly felt a connection to her.
My first meeting with my treatment team was rather intimidating- it was four people all asking me questions such as “why do you want to kill yourself?” I don’t really know the answer to that. It’s the million dollar question right there.
I was told that because it was Thanksgiving break, the schedule would be all wonky. “You might not see your doctor again until Monday” one of the nurses informed me. That would mean missing at least a day of school. I kissed goodbye to my 4.0.
There was a commotion down at one end of the hall. I turned to see several nurses hurrying towards a woman who was screaming and kicking a door. My heart instantly went out to her. I understood how frustrating it was to be a patient. Like the fact that you were in an institution negated the validity of your feelings. I later walked by and saw her in the solitary room huddled in the corner, her face buried in her hands.
My first day was lined with short bursts of panic. It feels like I’ll never get out of here. How can I handle this? I alternated between feeling like I couldn’t breathe and feeling like I was going to cry.
My salvation was Maggie. She was so friendly it made everything a little less scary.
I also felt a bit better after a short trip to the courtyard (which we were allowed once a day). The courtyard was small, barren and dingy but there was a basketball court so I shot some hoops and pretended I was home.
All throughout the day I considered putting in my 72 hours notice. But maybe I did need to be here. Maybe I needed to finally accept that. I’m here for now and that’s okay. This is only temporary. This will all be okay.
I also finally showered. They don’t watch you when you shower (which was a relief) but you aren’t allowed razors.
I couldn’t help but think of Bryan. As of Monday night, he wanted to date me. But who would want to date a girl in a mental institution?
Day Two: Thanksgiving
The next morning I ate breakfast with Maggie and her roommate Diane who entertained me with stories about her work at the animal shelter.
“I’ve been trying not to cry” I confessed to them after breakfast “because I want to show the staff I’m getting better”
“Crying is okay” Maggie reassured me “They won’t keep you here longer if you cry occasionally. It’s only if you make a disturbance. Then, they will put you “on-status” and you will be here even longer”
In the living room, the patients gathered to watch the Thanksgiving parade. “Later we can watch all the Black Friday craziness and be glad we aren’t out there” Maggie said settling down on the chair next to me.
Mom, Dad and Michael (my brosser) all came to visit me on Thanksgiving. We played cards and Cranium and Password which was all fun but you know what would have been even more fun? Not being in the institution at all.
Even though it was Thanksgiving I met with my treatment team anyway. I had a hope Dr. Ross would look at me and say “You don’t need to be here” and I could go. That didn’t happen but they did set a discharge date for Monday. Monday! That was doable.
“We are also going to start you on Lamictal. It’s a mood stabilizer. We have to increase it in very low doses so it’ll be a while before you see results” A third medication. I once had dreams of living a med free life. Clearly that was not in the cards right now.
Day Three:
My treatment team soon amended my discharge date to Tuesday. I wasn’t quite sure how I was supposed to make it that long. It was the weekend so all activities were suspended and the patients only had themselves and each other for amusement.
Unsurprisingly, some found it hard to deal with the excess of spare time. There were several code reds (which was when a patient causes a disturbance usually by screaming or attempting to throw chairs).
“They might sedate her” Diane told me as we watched one of the girls become absolutely hysterical. The alarm soon subsided but I heard her crying for the next half hour.
That night I had gone to bed early (I mean there wasn’t much to do) when I heard a knock at the door. It was Maggie.
“You have a phone call she told me” My heart leapt with excitement. My parents had just left- they wouldn’t call.
Sure enough, it was Bryan. And we actually managed to have a “non-awkward” conversation. Nothing romantic (no “I’ve been thinking about you”) but I think we both knew this was not the time or place for it.
“How’s the hospital?” he asked
“It’s okay. At least we can go outside to shoot hoops”
“Oh, so you can practice your shitty basketball skills?” Aww, so sweet. But hearing the teasing tone of his voice brought a big smile to my face.
Day Four:
On Day Four, I got a new roommate. Her name was Sasha and she was from Ukraine with a beautiful accent. Although she was 32 she only looked 22 and was married with two young children.
“How are you finding it here?” asked Diane over her morning cup of coffee (patients are only allowed one cup but most of them find a way around this rule)
Sasha explained they had started her on Lithium.
“That’s pretty strong if you’ve never been on medication before” Maggie commented.
“It’s strong even if you have been on medication before” added Diane.
“I don’t like it” Sasha said “This chills, shaking….I haven’t been able to sleep at all” The way she described it made it sound like a nightmare.
I liked Sasha a lot. At one point, I made her laugh and she told me I had a great sense of humor which made me pretty happy. One thing I try to retain in these situations is a sense of humor.
After shooting hoop in the courtyard, I found myself all shaky which was odd. I couldn’t tell if it was because I pushed myself or because of the Lamictal. I really hoped it was not the meds. I could not have any adverse reactions if I wanted to go back to school.
Day Five:
During my stay in the institution I began to read Jodi Picoult’s small great things which is about racial inequalities in America. Jodi Picoult uses her words to invoke change about causes close to her heart. We all have a cause that is close to us our hearts and for me that is the treatment of mentally ill patients. New York Presbyterian was supposed to be one of the better places. But it still wasn’t great. Like I said, everyone has a cause and this was mine. And I hoped to bring about change through my greatest weapon: my words.
I especially liked the books title small great things based on the quote by Martin Luther King “If I cannot do great things I can do small things in a great way” That’s what I wanted to do: small things in a great way.
Later that evening they did room checks without knocking (again) just abruptly opened the door to check we were there and then closed it. It was a very minor thing but it is all about the little things.
“So rude” Sasha said and this prompted what I considered to be a pretty amazing discussion between Sasha and I about how mental health was a broken system.
“It is” agreed Sasha “but you can’t change anything until you look in the mirror and start changing yourself” I have to agree
Day Six:
On my sixth day in the mental institution I was discharged. Three things I knew for sure. 1) I was never so happy to see my phone. 2) I would always be grateful for Maggie and the other women who had taken me under their wing. And 3) I was never going back.
Three Months and One Psychotic Break Later
Day One:
I was in the hospital. Again. I guess I had one psychotic episode too many.
My head was a mess with thoughts. Bryan wouldn’t want to date me. Derrick and I would never be friends again. Oh and did I mention how much I freakin hated those damn safety pens?
I spent most of the first morning sleeping because I didn’t go to bed until past one. My family got back to New York around 10 and then there was the intake. I remember the first time at the hospital waiting anxiously, unsure what to expect. This time around I just fell asleep.
“Hope?” A nurse stood over me “We are going to admit you now” So they escorted me back to Ward 5North, and did the body map. Unlike last time, I did not cry myself to sleep. I was too tired. I fell asleep right away, exhausted, limp, hoping desperately I would wake up in my dorm room.
In the morning, I met with Dr. Ross and Arabelle (my social worker). These were the people I had worked with last time which was good because they both knew me and would try to get me out as soon as possible.
“We are going to run a bunch of tests” said Dr. Ross, blinking excessively in his customary way, “including an uriology exam. We are also going to run an fMRI to make sure the cause of your psychosis is not physical”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, say, a bleed in your brain” Great, now I had that to worry about as well.
Obviously, there was a whole new group of people here. So far I liked Eleanor the best, a girl close to my own age who was here because she tried to OD on oxy. She’d been there over a week. I shuddered to think of all the school work I would have missed by then.
Being in the institution made it hard to keep my spirits up but at least the voices were quiet(ish). Some part of me whispered This was what the voices wanted all along but I squashed that thought. I would NOT give into my delusions.
I was also determined not to cry, trying to use skills like radical acceptance. But accepting I was back was very hard for me. And I kept worrying about Bryan. Who would want to date a girl in and out of an institution?
Mom and Dad came to visit, bringing along the same assortment of games, chocolate and “surprises” (like fill -in -the blank journals) that they had given me last time.
“When do you think I’ll get out of here?” I asked wistfully, “I’m going to miss so much work”
“Hope, we want you to think big picture. Focus on getting better, not on when you can go back to school” My mom said gently, opening a Tupperware of grapes and offering me one “Think long term”
“I don’t see why things can’t work out short and long term”
Mom looked at me sadly. “Sometimes they just don’t Hope. That’s called life”
That night I received a call from the McManus family. They called right before we went to bed and I was so happy to hear from them. Especially Bryan. Talking on the phone with Bryan comes naturally now.
“Do you think……if I can come back…..can we still go on our date?” I asked, dreading the answer, absentmindedly playing with the phone cord.
“Of course we can” Bryan’s reassurance kept a smile on my face for the rest of the night.
Day Two:
“I’m going to miss so much school being here” I said wringing my hands. Mom and Dad were visiting again. I saw them exchange a glance.
“Maybe we’ll rent second copies of your textbooks” Dad said “So you can keep up”
I found this encouraging. Surely, they wouldn’t bother getting me textbooks if I wasn’t even coming back.
Eleanor and I had been spending all our meals together. In some ways, she reminded me of Mary. Sometimes I liked to pretend I’m was at a summer camp with children my own age.
I met with Dr. Ross again.
“My parents are getting me copies of my textbooks so I won’t be too behind when I go back to school” I told him. Dr. Ross had a funny look on his face.
“They think going back would be good for you?” Fuck. Not another person to convince.
“Yes” I said. Well, at least they would think that once I had convinced them.
“Hope,” Dr. Ross is rather brusque for a doctor. He doesn’t have much of a bedside manner. But here he seemed to be making an effort. “we don’t know yet if you will be able to go back to school”
The thought had not fully entered my head before. I wouldn’t let it. As I mentioned once, I am the master of denial. The thought of not going back to school was too painful to bear.
“There are several factors we must take into consideration” Dr. Ross said, speaking practically as though my entire life was not hanging thinly in the balance “Like if you can find a psychiatrist there, not two hours away here in New York. We don’t even know if the school will take you back”
I had never even thought about that. Not take me back? Was that even a thing? Could they just decide they didn’t want me?
Radical acceptance, I reminded myself. But I couldn’t do it. Scranton was my home. If I didn’t have Scranton what did I have?
That night a bunch of us got together to watch Zombieland. I was surprised to find myself laughing and happy but apparently I could adapt pretty well.
Day Three:
My stay at the institution the second time around did not seem quite as unbearable but the fact that I might not return to Scranton hung before me like a big dark cloud. Part of me still had hope, the other part of me did not want to have hope because it might just get crushed anyway.
The hospital increased my medication again. They also gave me a copy of the MMPI-2 (Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory) which is 567 True or False Questions about myself. I wasn’t quite sure of its relevance but I would do anything to get out faster.
Day Four:
Every day it looked more and more like I would be returning to school. But it was dependent on several factors, like finding a psychiatrist in the Scranton area. I desperately wished I could see the future. I desperately wanted to go home.
It was Sunday so that meant no treatment and that everything was kind of in limbo. It was very frustrating to just sit there, waiting, feeling like everything was outside my control.
I tried to watch the Grammy’s but hearing all the familiar songs made me miss “the outside world” even more. Soon, Hope I told myself, just hold on.
Day Five:
Monday morning I had several hours of testing, because the hospital sent a psychologist to do a bunch of memory tests and brain exercises. I wasn’t sure how well I did because the medication seemed to make my brain a bit fuzzy. I wasn’t quite sure how it would help me either but if they told me to smash my head against the wall so they could get a better look at my brain, well I’d do it in a heartbeat.
My worst fear was the voices returning so I barely gave myself any time to be alone with my thoughts. I guess I was afraid of them.
One of the highlights of the day was a call from Bryan. Swoon! We talked about the four hour test they gave me and his Pathfinder game. We did not talk about our date but it was one of the things keeping a smile on my face whenever I felt like I was going to break down completely.
Day Six: Valentine’s Day
“At this point I have to recommend partial hospitalization. I do not think returning to Scranton would be advisable” Dr. Ross told me on day six of my stay in the hospital.
What do you know? I wanted to ask. I am a mild person by nature but at this point I wanted to flip over a table. If only they weren’t bolted to the floor.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen- any of it. How could I have let this happen? I felt utterly heartbroken?
Every morning I woke up and was confronted by the realization that I was in the hospital. And not my beloved Scranton. I missed my friends. I missed my classes. I even missed my clothes (all of my clothes were back in my dorm room. I was wearing two hospital gowns). So Happy Valentine’s Day to me.
It was also hard to accept that I would be in the hospital longer the second time around. It made me feel as though I was going backwards.
` I made an attempt to look for some silver linings. Like playing HORSE with Sam and Eleanor even though there was snow all over the courtyard (I won. Just saying). Another bit of fun was watching Susannah and Eleanor play Super Mario brossers on the Wii. If I didn’t compare it to “life outside”, then sometimes the hospital seemed bearable.
Sam went home as did a bunch of other people which was disheartening because some of them had come in after I did.
Day Seven:
Day Seven was notable, because I managed to snag three cups of coffee, so I was actually awake for group therapy. During group therapy, we talked about toxic relationships. More and more I was realizing my friendship with Derrick was extremely unhealthy, namely because I was so codependent on him.
I met with Dr. Ross again. “We are going to have you meet with our consultant, Dr. Kernberg” Dr. Ross told me as though I knew who that was.
“Who?”
“Dr. Kernberg. He’s an international expert on borderline personality disorder and he comes to this hospital once a week for a case consultation. That means he will conduct an interview with you, probably in front of several nursing students. Is that all right with you?”
“Why me?” As far as I knew there was nothing particularly special about me.
“Your case is a bit confusing since you have borderline personality disorder symptoms but you have now developed psychosis which is pretty inconsistent with borderline personality disorder. We just want to get his opinion”
Later that day Dr. Sickles, a member of my “team, asked me several hundred questions.
“I am going to brief Dr. Kernberg on your responses before the meeting. That way he won’t waste precious time asking basic questions” she told me. I didn’t ask What if I die from nerves first? I wasn’t feeling too well but I couldn’t tell if it was the medication or nerves. I had also developed slight tremors which was probably explained by the increase in medication.
I tried not to think of Derrick or Bryan too much. I couldn’t believe I was so close to having a date with Bryan and just like last time, I ended up here again. Talk about history repeating itself.
Catherine called that evening and talking to her was very cathartic. I loved ranting to Catherine because she never made me feel ashamed of my emotions. I talked to Bryan as well. Talking on the phone with him came more naturally, the more I did it.
“Thank you for talking to me for so long” I told him and he replied “I mean it doesn’t feel like a long time” I was so excited of this date. It our phone conversations were any indication, we would always have something to talk about. There was never any awkward silences, something I hoped he had noticed.
But one of the most telling things is that Derrick hadn’t called. He hadn’t even asked for the number from his parents even though he knew full well his parents have it. That really hurt.
Day Eight:
I was in the hospital longer than it took for God to create the freakin universe. Would I go back to Scranton with all my friends, date Bryan and finish the semester? Or would I be stuck in New York? Would I be happy if I stayed in New York? Would this be my last hospitalization? I had so many questions, my stomach was in knots. And if I didn’t go back to Scranton, when would I get all my clothes? It might seem trivial but I really did miss my clothes.
Please God (or whoever is out there), I prayed, just let me return to Scranton. Don’t send me more trials. Don’t test how strong I am, please.
I was very nervous for the meeting with Dr. Kernberg. I wondered what would happen if I just started crying in the middle of the meeting. I tried to picture the McManus family and Moon Squad at the meeting supporting me.
I sat in one of the chairs waiting to be called in to the meeting, hearing Ashley screaming at her mom on the phone. Ashley hadn’t been here as long as I had but she wanted to get out that day. The hospital and her mom said no. Ashley had one sweatshirt, one dress and one pair of underwear which she had been washing in the sink every day. Not once had her mom been by. Not even to bring her new clothes. I knew family dynamics were complicated especially where mental illness was concerned but the whole situation was still sad.
“Hope?” It was one of the nurses. “They are ready for you”
The meeting was in a large room adjacent to Ward 5N. My entire team was there as well as five or six nursing students and the famous Dr. Kernbeg.
“He doesn’t have much of a bedside manner” Dr. Ross warned me “You also have to speak up because he is hard of hearing” Great. I would have to practically shout about my problems to a room full of strangers.
Dr. Kernberg, a man just shy of 90, regarded me closely as I settled myself into the chair opposite him. Then the questions began. We talked about the voices, my paranoia, my past romantic relationships (many of them train wrecks), and my relationships with Derrick and Bryan. I was surprised at all the questions about Derrick and Bryan but I guess Dr. Kernberg was insightful enough to see they were very important to me. He was very direct, sometimes had me feeling like I was under interrogation. At the end of the interview, he dismissed me without giving me any information. I left, knowing they would all discuss me once I had gone.
It wasn’t until later that day that I learned the results of my meeting with Kernberg. My parents and I were in the middle of a game of Rummy 500 when Dr. Ross approached us.
“Mind if I speak with Hope?” he asked us. I leapt up from the chair and followed him and Dr. Sickles to a private corner where we could talk.
“Hope, we don’t think it’s a good idea if you go back to Scranton” He continued talking but it was like I was underwater. I barely heard a word he said as he spoke to me about Dr. Kernberg’s impressions of me. I knew he was talking about important stuff but none of it registered. I waited until he was done talking, mechanically walked right past my parents to my room, laid down on my bed and positively screamed in my pillow. I didn’t care if the nurses heard. I didn’t care if they put me on status. I didn’t care if they kept me longer. I had lost Scranton. I had lost everything.
My mom came to the door of my room but she wasn’t allowed in per hospital rules. “Hope please” she pleaded “Come out and talk to us” I refused. I just kept crying.
Once I had finished crying I was numb, in denial. I had barely made it the seven weeks through intercession. How was I going to last until September? What if they didn’t let me room next year with my friends? For the first time in a very long time, I wanted to hurt myself.
That night I had my brain scan at the local hospital (the real hospital , not the loony bin hospital) to ensure my psychosis hadn’t been caused by anything physical. People kept asking me if I was nervous and wishing me luck but after my prior stay in el hospital, I wasn’t too concerned. I was escorted to the nearby hospital by a nurse who refused to leave my side until I was in the actual machine. Ordinarily, I might have resented that but this time I didn’t really care.
Despite my intense despair, I was still looking forward to the next day, to getting out to getting my phone back, to finally be in contact with my friends. I tried not to torture myself by thinking about what could have been if I hadn’t gone crazy, if I hadn’t heard my voices. I tried not to let the ‘what if’s govern my thoughts.
Day Nine:
Cliché though it may sound, I spent the night dreaming I was in Scranton and when I woke up a wave of disappointment crashed over me. Part of me was still in denial, hoping Dr. Ross would change his mind, that someone would clap me on the back with a hearty “Just kidding!”
But the other part of me was already looking to the future. What would I do? Get a job? Volunteer? Where? Doing what? What if I returned to September and floundered all over again? What if I couldn’t live with my friends? How would I make it six months until September when I barely made it seven weeks? I tried looking for the silver lining. I knew I could probably find a way to make friends. But in some ways, I couldn’t help but feel that for the time being I had lost everything.
Three Months Later
J.K. Rowling once said “Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life” That’s what I’m in the process of doing right now. Rebuilding my life. Recovering and getting to know myself in the process. Healing. And part of healing is sharing my story. That’s why I am here today.
Three things I know for sure: 1) I am lucky to have such great people to stand by my side 2) If I returned to Scranton, I will be stronger than I was before 3) Everything was going to be okay.
My first night in the mental institution was hell. I was in a double but I had the room to myself for which I was grateful. I didn’t need to be sharing my space with some nutcase on top of everything else (I was dimly aware that the term “nutcase” could arguably encompass me as well). My bed was right beneath the window, giving me a view of the courtyard. I kept imagining forcing open the window, leaping out and running until my legs gave out under me. It scared me that even though I had checked myself in I could not simply just walk out.
There was something known as the “72 hour notice” where you can let the hospital know, in writing, you wish to leave and they have only 72 hours to hold you before getting a court order. 72 hours! I didn’t think I could last an hour
I also resented the severe lack of privacy. Nurses kept poking their heads into my room throughout the night when they were doing rounds which made it very hard to fall asleep much less cry like I wanted to do. Eventually, I fell asleep in a fetal position, eyes squeezed shut but tears leaking out of them anyway.
The next morning began with breakfast where they gave me so much food I couldn’t even finish it.
“You have to eat” one very thin woman at my table said “If you lose too much weight they send you to another, more archaic floor. Besides if you are too thin, the antidepressants won’t work”
I met several people at breakfast including one woman named Maggie who I got to talking to on the med line. She has borderline personality disorder, like myself. I never met someone else who was diagnosed in person before and I instantly felt a connection to her.
My first meeting with my treatment team was rather intimidating- it was four people all asking me questions such as “why do you want to kill yourself?” I don’t really know the answer to that. It’s the million dollar question right there.
I was told that because it was Thanksgiving break, the schedule would be all wonky. “You might not see your doctor again until Monday” one of the nurses informed me. That would mean missing at least a day of school. I kissed goodbye to my 4.0.
There was a commotion down at one end of the hall. I turned to see several nurses hurrying towards a woman who was screaming and kicking a door. My heart instantly went out to her. I understood how frustrating it was to be a patient. Like the fact that you were in an institution negated the validity of your feelings. I later walked by and saw her in the solitary room huddled in the corner, her face buried in her hands.
My first day was lined with short bursts of panic. It feels like I’ll never get out of here. How can I handle this? I alternated between feeling like I couldn’t breathe and feeling like I was going to cry.
My salvation was Maggie. She was so friendly it made everything a little less scary.
I also felt a bit better after a short trip to the courtyard (which we were allowed once a day). The courtyard was small, barren and dingy but there was a basketball court so I shot some hoops and pretended I was home.
All throughout the day I considered putting in my 72 hours notice. But maybe I did need to be here. Maybe I needed to finally accept that. I’m here for now and that’s okay. This is only temporary. This will all be okay.
I also finally showered. They don’t watch you when you shower (which was a relief) but you aren’t allowed razors.
I couldn’t help but think of Bryan. As of Monday night, he wanted to date me. But who would want to date a girl in a mental institution?
Day Two: Thanksgiving
The next morning I ate breakfast with Maggie and her roommate Diane who entertained me with stories about her work at the animal shelter.
“I’ve been trying not to cry” I confessed to them after breakfast “because I want to show the staff I’m getting better”
“Crying is okay” Maggie reassured me “They won’t keep you here longer if you cry occasionally. It’s only if you make a disturbance. Then, they will put you “on-status” and you will be here even longer”
In the living room, the patients gathered to watch the Thanksgiving parade. “Later we can watch all the Black Friday craziness and be glad we aren’t out there” Maggie said settling down on the chair next to me.
Mom, Dad and Michael (my brosser) all came to visit me on Thanksgiving. We played cards and Cranium and Password which was all fun but you know what would have been even more fun? Not being in the institution at all.
Even though it was Thanksgiving I met with my treatment team anyway. I had a hope Dr. Ross would look at me and say “You don’t need to be here” and I could go. That didn’t happen but they did set a discharge date for Monday. Monday! That was doable.
“We are also going to start you on Lamictal. It’s a mood stabilizer. We have to increase it in very low doses so it’ll be a while before you see results” A third medication. I once had dreams of living a med free life. Clearly that was not in the cards right now.
Day Three:
My treatment team soon amended my discharge date to Tuesday. I wasn’t quite sure how I was supposed to make it that long. It was the weekend so all activities were suspended and the patients only had themselves and each other for amusement.
Unsurprisingly, some found it hard to deal with the excess of spare time. There were several code reds (which was when a patient causes a disturbance usually by screaming or attempting to throw chairs).
“They might sedate her” Diane told me as we watched one of the girls become absolutely hysterical. The alarm soon subsided but I heard her crying for the next half hour.
That night I had gone to bed early (I mean there wasn’t much to do) when I heard a knock at the door. It was Maggie.
“You have a phone call she told me” My heart leapt with excitement. My parents had just left- they wouldn’t call.
Sure enough, it was Bryan. And we actually managed to have a “non-awkward” conversation. Nothing romantic (no “I’ve been thinking about you”) but I think we both knew this was not the time or place for it.
“How’s the hospital?” he asked
“It’s okay. At least we can go outside to shoot hoops”
“Oh, so you can practice your shitty basketball skills?” Aww, so sweet. But hearing the teasing tone of his voice brought a big smile to my face.
Day Four:
On Day Four, I got a new roommate. Her name was Sasha and she was from Ukraine with a beautiful accent. Although she was 32 she only looked 22 and was married with two young children.
“How are you finding it here?” asked Diane over her morning cup of coffee (patients are only allowed one cup but most of them find a way around this rule)
Sasha explained they had started her on Lithium.
“That’s pretty strong if you’ve never been on medication before” Maggie commented.
“It’s strong even if you have been on medication before” added Diane.
“I don’t like it” Sasha said “This chills, shaking….I haven’t been able to sleep at all” The way she described it made it sound like a nightmare.
I liked Sasha a lot. At one point, I made her laugh and she told me I had a great sense of humor which made me pretty happy. One thing I try to retain in these situations is a sense of humor.
After shooting hoop in the courtyard, I found myself all shaky which was odd. I couldn’t tell if it was because I pushed myself or because of the Lamictal. I really hoped it was not the meds. I could not have any adverse reactions if I wanted to go back to school.
Day Five:
During my stay in the institution I began to read Jodi Picoult’s small great things which is about racial inequalities in America. Jodi Picoult uses her words to invoke change about causes close to her heart. We all have a cause that is close to us our hearts and for me that is the treatment of mentally ill patients. New York Presbyterian was supposed to be one of the better places. But it still wasn’t great. Like I said, everyone has a cause and this was mine. And I hoped to bring about change through my greatest weapon: my words.
I especially liked the books title small great things based on the quote by Martin Luther King “If I cannot do great things I can do small things in a great way” That’s what I wanted to do: small things in a great way.
Later that evening they did room checks without knocking (again) just abruptly opened the door to check we were there and then closed it. It was a very minor thing but it is all about the little things.
“So rude” Sasha said and this prompted what I considered to be a pretty amazing discussion between Sasha and I about how mental health was a broken system.
“It is” agreed Sasha “but you can’t change anything until you look in the mirror and start changing yourself” I have to agree
Day Six:
On my sixth day in the mental institution I was discharged. Three things I knew for sure. 1) I was never so happy to see my phone. 2) I would always be grateful for Maggie and the other women who had taken me under their wing. And 3) I was never going back.
Three Months and One Psychotic Break Later
Day One:
I was in the hospital. Again. I guess I had one psychotic episode too many.
My head was a mess with thoughts. Bryan wouldn’t want to date me. Derrick and I would never be friends again. Oh and did I mention how much I freakin hated those damn safety pens?
I spent most of the first morning sleeping because I didn’t go to bed until past one. My family got back to New York around 10 and then there was the intake. I remember the first time at the hospital waiting anxiously, unsure what to expect. This time around I just fell asleep.
“Hope?” A nurse stood over me “We are going to admit you now” So they escorted me back to Ward 5North, and did the body map. Unlike last time, I did not cry myself to sleep. I was too tired. I fell asleep right away, exhausted, limp, hoping desperately I would wake up in my dorm room.
In the morning, I met with Dr. Ross and Arabelle (my social worker). These were the people I had worked with last time which was good because they both knew me and would try to get me out as soon as possible.
“We are going to run a bunch of tests” said Dr. Ross, blinking excessively in his customary way, “including an uriology exam. We are also going to run an fMRI to make sure the cause of your psychosis is not physical”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, say, a bleed in your brain” Great, now I had that to worry about as well.
Obviously, there was a whole new group of people here. So far I liked Eleanor the best, a girl close to my own age who was here because she tried to OD on oxy. She’d been there over a week. I shuddered to think of all the school work I would have missed by then.
Being in the institution made it hard to keep my spirits up but at least the voices were quiet(ish). Some part of me whispered This was what the voices wanted all along but I squashed that thought. I would NOT give into my delusions.
I was also determined not to cry, trying to use skills like radical acceptance. But accepting I was back was very hard for me. And I kept worrying about Bryan. Who would want to date a girl in and out of an institution?
Mom and Dad came to visit, bringing along the same assortment of games, chocolate and “surprises” (like fill -in -the blank journals) that they had given me last time.
“When do you think I’ll get out of here?” I asked wistfully, “I’m going to miss so much work”
“Hope, we want you to think big picture. Focus on getting better, not on when you can go back to school” My mom said gently, opening a Tupperware of grapes and offering me one “Think long term”
“I don’t see why things can’t work out short and long term”
Mom looked at me sadly. “Sometimes they just don’t Hope. That’s called life”
That night I received a call from the McManus family. They called right before we went to bed and I was so happy to hear from them. Especially Bryan. Talking on the phone with Bryan comes naturally now.
“Do you think……if I can come back…..can we still go on our date?” I asked, dreading the answer, absentmindedly playing with the phone cord.
“Of course we can” Bryan’s reassurance kept a smile on my face for the rest of the night.
Day Two:
“I’m going to miss so much school being here” I said wringing my hands. Mom and Dad were visiting again. I saw them exchange a glance.
“Maybe we’ll rent second copies of your textbooks” Dad said “So you can keep up”
I found this encouraging. Surely, they wouldn’t bother getting me textbooks if I wasn’t even coming back.
Eleanor and I had been spending all our meals together. In some ways, she reminded me of Mary. Sometimes I liked to pretend I’m was at a summer camp with children my own age.
I met with Dr. Ross again.
“My parents are getting me copies of my textbooks so I won’t be too behind when I go back to school” I told him. Dr. Ross had a funny look on his face.
“They think going back would be good for you?” Fuck. Not another person to convince.
“Yes” I said. Well, at least they would think that once I had convinced them.
“Hope,” Dr. Ross is rather brusque for a doctor. He doesn’t have much of a bedside manner. But here he seemed to be making an effort. “we don’t know yet if you will be able to go back to school”
The thought had not fully entered my head before. I wouldn’t let it. As I mentioned once, I am the master of denial. The thought of not going back to school was too painful to bear.
“There are several factors we must take into consideration” Dr. Ross said, speaking practically as though my entire life was not hanging thinly in the balance “Like if you can find a psychiatrist there, not two hours away here in New York. We don’t even know if the school will take you back”
I had never even thought about that. Not take me back? Was that even a thing? Could they just decide they didn’t want me?
Radical acceptance, I reminded myself. But I couldn’t do it. Scranton was my home. If I didn’t have Scranton what did I have?
That night a bunch of us got together to watch Zombieland. I was surprised to find myself laughing and happy but apparently I could adapt pretty well.
Day Three:
My stay at the institution the second time around did not seem quite as unbearable but the fact that I might not return to Scranton hung before me like a big dark cloud. Part of me still had hope, the other part of me did not want to have hope because it might just get crushed anyway.
The hospital increased my medication again. They also gave me a copy of the MMPI-2 (Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory) which is 567 True or False Questions about myself. I wasn’t quite sure of its relevance but I would do anything to get out faster.
Day Four:
Every day it looked more and more like I would be returning to school. But it was dependent on several factors, like finding a psychiatrist in the Scranton area. I desperately wished I could see the future. I desperately wanted to go home.
It was Sunday so that meant no treatment and that everything was kind of in limbo. It was very frustrating to just sit there, waiting, feeling like everything was outside my control.
I tried to watch the Grammy’s but hearing all the familiar songs made me miss “the outside world” even more. Soon, Hope I told myself, just hold on.
Day Five:
Monday morning I had several hours of testing, because the hospital sent a psychologist to do a bunch of memory tests and brain exercises. I wasn’t sure how well I did because the medication seemed to make my brain a bit fuzzy. I wasn’t quite sure how it would help me either but if they told me to smash my head against the wall so they could get a better look at my brain, well I’d do it in a heartbeat.
My worst fear was the voices returning so I barely gave myself any time to be alone with my thoughts. I guess I was afraid of them.
One of the highlights of the day was a call from Bryan. Swoon! We talked about the four hour test they gave me and his Pathfinder game. We did not talk about our date but it was one of the things keeping a smile on my face whenever I felt like I was going to break down completely.
Day Six: Valentine’s Day
“At this point I have to recommend partial hospitalization. I do not think returning to Scranton would be advisable” Dr. Ross told me on day six of my stay in the hospital.
What do you know? I wanted to ask. I am a mild person by nature but at this point I wanted to flip over a table. If only they weren’t bolted to the floor.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen- any of it. How could I have let this happen? I felt utterly heartbroken?
Every morning I woke up and was confronted by the realization that I was in the hospital. And not my beloved Scranton. I missed my friends. I missed my classes. I even missed my clothes (all of my clothes were back in my dorm room. I was wearing two hospital gowns). So Happy Valentine’s Day to me.
It was also hard to accept that I would be in the hospital longer the second time around. It made me feel as though I was going backwards.
` I made an attempt to look for some silver linings. Like playing HORSE with Sam and Eleanor even though there was snow all over the courtyard (I won. Just saying). Another bit of fun was watching Susannah and Eleanor play Super Mario brossers on the Wii. If I didn’t compare it to “life outside”, then sometimes the hospital seemed bearable.
Sam went home as did a bunch of other people which was disheartening because some of them had come in after I did.
Day Seven:
Day Seven was notable, because I managed to snag three cups of coffee, so I was actually awake for group therapy. During group therapy, we talked about toxic relationships. More and more I was realizing my friendship with Derrick was extremely unhealthy, namely because I was so codependent on him.
I met with Dr. Ross again. “We are going to have you meet with our consultant, Dr. Kernberg” Dr. Ross told me as though I knew who that was.
“Who?”
“Dr. Kernberg. He’s an international expert on borderline personality disorder and he comes to this hospital once a week for a case consultation. That means he will conduct an interview with you, probably in front of several nursing students. Is that all right with you?”
“Why me?” As far as I knew there was nothing particularly special about me.
“Your case is a bit confusing since you have borderline personality disorder symptoms but you have now developed psychosis which is pretty inconsistent with borderline personality disorder. We just want to get his opinion”
Later that day Dr. Sickles, a member of my “team, asked me several hundred questions.
“I am going to brief Dr. Kernberg on your responses before the meeting. That way he won’t waste precious time asking basic questions” she told me. I didn’t ask What if I die from nerves first? I wasn’t feeling too well but I couldn’t tell if it was the medication or nerves. I had also developed slight tremors which was probably explained by the increase in medication.
I tried not to think of Derrick or Bryan too much. I couldn’t believe I was so close to having a date with Bryan and just like last time, I ended up here again. Talk about history repeating itself.
Catherine called that evening and talking to her was very cathartic. I loved ranting to Catherine because she never made me feel ashamed of my emotions. I talked to Bryan as well. Talking on the phone with him came more naturally, the more I did it.
“Thank you for talking to me for so long” I told him and he replied “I mean it doesn’t feel like a long time” I was so excited of this date. It our phone conversations were any indication, we would always have something to talk about. There was never any awkward silences, something I hoped he had noticed.
But one of the most telling things is that Derrick hadn’t called. He hadn’t even asked for the number from his parents even though he knew full well his parents have it. That really hurt.
Day Eight:
I was in the hospital longer than it took for God to create the freakin universe. Would I go back to Scranton with all my friends, date Bryan and finish the semester? Or would I be stuck in New York? Would I be happy if I stayed in New York? Would this be my last hospitalization? I had so many questions, my stomach was in knots. And if I didn’t go back to Scranton, when would I get all my clothes? It might seem trivial but I really did miss my clothes.
Please God (or whoever is out there), I prayed, just let me return to Scranton. Don’t send me more trials. Don’t test how strong I am, please.
I was very nervous for the meeting with Dr. Kernberg. I wondered what would happen if I just started crying in the middle of the meeting. I tried to picture the McManus family and Moon Squad at the meeting supporting me.
I sat in one of the chairs waiting to be called in to the meeting, hearing Ashley screaming at her mom on the phone. Ashley hadn’t been here as long as I had but she wanted to get out that day. The hospital and her mom said no. Ashley had one sweatshirt, one dress and one pair of underwear which she had been washing in the sink every day. Not once had her mom been by. Not even to bring her new clothes. I knew family dynamics were complicated especially where mental illness was concerned but the whole situation was still sad.
“Hope?” It was one of the nurses. “They are ready for you”
The meeting was in a large room adjacent to Ward 5N. My entire team was there as well as five or six nursing students and the famous Dr. Kernbeg.
“He doesn’t have much of a bedside manner” Dr. Ross warned me “You also have to speak up because he is hard of hearing” Great. I would have to practically shout about my problems to a room full of strangers.
Dr. Kernberg, a man just shy of 90, regarded me closely as I settled myself into the chair opposite him. Then the questions began. We talked about the voices, my paranoia, my past romantic relationships (many of them train wrecks), and my relationships with Derrick and Bryan. I was surprised at all the questions about Derrick and Bryan but I guess Dr. Kernberg was insightful enough to see they were very important to me. He was very direct, sometimes had me feeling like I was under interrogation. At the end of the interview, he dismissed me without giving me any information. I left, knowing they would all discuss me once I had gone.
It wasn’t until later that day that I learned the results of my meeting with Kernberg. My parents and I were in the middle of a game of Rummy 500 when Dr. Ross approached us.
“Mind if I speak with Hope?” he asked us. I leapt up from the chair and followed him and Dr. Sickles to a private corner where we could talk.
“Hope, we don’t think it’s a good idea if you go back to Scranton” He continued talking but it was like I was underwater. I barely heard a word he said as he spoke to me about Dr. Kernberg’s impressions of me. I knew he was talking about important stuff but none of it registered. I waited until he was done talking, mechanically walked right past my parents to my room, laid down on my bed and positively screamed in my pillow. I didn’t care if the nurses heard. I didn’t care if they put me on status. I didn’t care if they kept me longer. I had lost Scranton. I had lost everything.
My mom came to the door of my room but she wasn’t allowed in per hospital rules. “Hope please” she pleaded “Come out and talk to us” I refused. I just kept crying.
Once I had finished crying I was numb, in denial. I had barely made it the seven weeks through intercession. How was I going to last until September? What if they didn’t let me room next year with my friends? For the first time in a very long time, I wanted to hurt myself.
That night I had my brain scan at the local hospital (the real hospital , not the loony bin hospital) to ensure my psychosis hadn’t been caused by anything physical. People kept asking me if I was nervous and wishing me luck but after my prior stay in el hospital, I wasn’t too concerned. I was escorted to the nearby hospital by a nurse who refused to leave my side until I was in the actual machine. Ordinarily, I might have resented that but this time I didn’t really care.
Despite my intense despair, I was still looking forward to the next day, to getting out to getting my phone back, to finally be in contact with my friends. I tried not to torture myself by thinking about what could have been if I hadn’t gone crazy, if I hadn’t heard my voices. I tried not to let the ‘what if’s govern my thoughts.
Day Nine:
Cliché though it may sound, I spent the night dreaming I was in Scranton and when I woke up a wave of disappointment crashed over me. Part of me was still in denial, hoping Dr. Ross would change his mind, that someone would clap me on the back with a hearty “Just kidding!”
But the other part of me was already looking to the future. What would I do? Get a job? Volunteer? Where? Doing what? What if I returned to September and floundered all over again? What if I couldn’t live with my friends? How would I make it six months until September when I barely made it seven weeks? I tried looking for the silver lining. I knew I could probably find a way to make friends. But in some ways, I couldn’t help but feel that for the time being I had lost everything.
Three Months Later
J.K. Rowling once said “Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life” That’s what I’m in the process of doing right now. Rebuilding my life. Recovering and getting to know myself in the process. Healing. And part of healing is sharing my story. That’s why I am here today.
Three things I know for sure: 1) I am lucky to have such great people to stand by my side 2) If I returned to Scranton, I will be stronger than I was before 3) Everything was going to be okay.