Tales From The Psych Ward

Yes, I was beaten unconscious while working on a psych unit by a criminal-patient (had served fed sentence for heroin trafficking). The previous day this patient had ripped an earring from a nurses' ear. Hospitals don't bother providing security despite the ongoing violence on psych units.

Unless you go to a private hospital, psych units are full of the most violent and sick people. Not a place for a depressed person at all, unless you enjoy boxing and martial arts.

In fact, currently with Covid and the high level of violence, NYC is paying psychiatrists "crisis pay" if they are willing to work at some of NYC's most violent hospitals. I received this recruitment notice a few days ago.

$2,800/day for Psychiatrists across the New York City area

Hiring: Multiple Psychiatrists in different facilities across the boroughs

Start Dates: Immediate

Schedule: Mon-Fri, 9am-5pm

Call: No Call

Location: New York City area

Setting: In-Patient

Requirements: BC Psychiatry is required. Must have active license and DEA, open to providers licensed in any state

Procedures: Will see 15-20 patients per day, primarily rounding with possibility of some C&L

Pay: $2,800/day all inclusive

OP thinks a mental illness is a circus for his entertainment.

Yes, in my 20s I was hospitalized several times with bipolar disorder.

I remember certain patients with particular idiosyncrasies. One woman would do laundry compulsively. Like, every hour. The nurses eventually had to lock the patient laundry room. Another woman was admitted in the middle of the night. I happened to be awake and out of my room for some reason, and I remember she ran into the patient kitchen and stripped naked. She must have been acutely psychotic or on drugs, and was rambling incoherently. At one point, I remember she said to the nurses, "I'm not as crazy as I look." One man with severe depression told me that a friend had bought him bars of soap when he was suicidal. Lots of them -- an eight or twelve pack. And she made him promise that he wouldn't kill himself until he used up all the soap.

Mostly, I remember a lot of heartache and a lot of tragedy.

r4, how are you doing now?

Mental health is horribly underfunded in my country. I was admitted to hospital for a suicide attempt but once I was revived, i was unable to be admitted to a ward because there weren't enough beds. I got shuttled off to a community home where you are basically abandoned. I noticed that at the back of my freestanding wardrobe there were two rusty nails so I shoved my wrists hard into them and dragged. Went to the hospital to get fixed up then straight back to the home. The nails were still there.

My parents came and got me and took me to their house.

I'm okay now, but I hate to think how many people don't make it due to lack of basic care.

My goodness, r6, I truly hope you’re in a better place now. Your story really stung to read. I send you love and peace - please stay strong and know that you are loved.

Thanks R7. It was only 8 years ago so I doubt the system is any better so that's sad.

r5 better in the sense I haven't been hospitalized for over ten years. But I still get depressed, even after many years of treatment, and sometimes think extreme mood swings are my lot in life.

In the "plus" column, I have not had alcohol since 2011.

Yes, after suicide attempts I was admitted to the psych ward at the county hospital (no health insurance). While I was in a holding area for psych patients (I think this was for triage to figure out who should go to which facility), I was part of a fairly good conversation about streaming channels and devices. This was back when streaming was still fairly new. The psych ward itself was less pleasant, because some of the patients were seriously unpleasant. One guy kept calling his mother to tell her the awful things he was going to do to her when he was released. There was one interesting conversation about which fried chicken chains were best, best rolls v. biscuits v. cheddar biscuits, who had the best sides. That was mostly with the nurses, though. One patient's delusions of grandeur were so wild they were almost funny. My depression had previously gone undiagnosed. I stabilized pretty quickly once I was started on anti-depressants. I was released to my family after a week. Had this been some clinic in the county for the rich and crazy, I would have wanted to stay longer, but I was eager to get out of this particular place.

Something reminded me of this thread yesterday. (I'm r4/r9).

For me, there's still also a certain shame about having been a patient in a psych ward. It's hard to describe ... it's a part of my personal history that very few people ever know about.

I’m a mental health nurse in the NHS. I’ve seen everything. It’s a horrible job sometimes, especially when people come off their treatment because they feel well. By the time they come back into hospital they are utterly exhausted and demoralised. It’s heartbreaking.

There were lots of little homosexual boy nurses there, no alcohol but lots of lettuce to throw.

I was in for severe depression. It was a small private hospital so no real psychos just depressed doctors wives etc. You had to hand in your razor and ask for it when you needed to shave. There were no door handles on cupboards or doors in your room, or curtain rails and there was a hole in the wall for a shower head so nowhere to hang yourself. Nurse would come round with a torch every half hour at night to see you were ok. Pleasant compassionate people both staff and patients, no one was judging you because everyone was there for the same reason. A poor lady with tourettes would yell the place down every five minutes and you had to eat at a communal dining room to encourage socializing. There was a gym, a lounge room, library and a garden and an art room. An elderly lady who sat next to me at dinner turned out to be a friend of my grandmothers who had died before I was born. Small world. You had to line up at a nurses station for medication so you couldn't pool it and overdose in your room.

Well, it didn't fuckin work did it?!

I am watching Frankenstein Meets the Space Monster. 1965, black and white and evidently shot in Florida on a zero budget. Does that count?

r4 again. One bad thing about the psych ward was the fifteen minute checks. I was in three wards at separate hospitals. The first was the nicest, and only those patients who were actively suicidal (or at risk of other forms of self harm) were on fifteen minute checks. Everyone else was checked hourly. Some acute patients were on one-to-one, which meant a staff member had to be within arm's length every second. The second ward, were I spent the most time, had fifteen minute checks for everyone, regardless of status. One evening, I was in bed, in the dark, in my room. I figured fifteen minutes was more than enough time to rub one out. Well, seconds away from cumming, two staff members shown a flashlight in my room and said, "Are you okay????"

Ugh. No privacy.

Nurse here. The fifteen minute checks are sometimes counterproductive. I’ve lost count of the times someone has self harmed or completed suicide because they know to the second when a nurse will check again.

Constant one to one is sometimes the only way to prevent this, but it can make the person’s desperation worse because they cannot carry out their plans. I have known people to convince psychiatrists to take them off one to one one observation and go missing, only to be found dead.

You get very close to people when you are supporting them through such pain and trying to help them identify anything to keep going for. When someone completes suicide it is devastating for the nurses.

Yes, it's pretty devastating for the doctors too. I lost a patient last year and that was the final nail on the coffin for me.

As a Teenager, my bf had been committed a few times for severe depression and attempted suicide. The big cover-up the first time was that he was in the hospital for "Pneumonia" I remember his class sent him a huge card signed with all their names. He was released around Christmas time and bought me a Christmas present! A shirt that said, "Filthy stinking rich, Two out of three ain't bad." The third time he got committed, visiting him I will never forget the look in his eyes. So drugged up and dead. Twenty-seven years later he lost the battle against his demons and self-loathing and I lost the only human being I ever loved. I should be in a psych ward.

R18 and R19 The patients who succeeded were suffering through lives more devastating than you can possibly imagine. Your attempts to prevent them from exercising their right to die were extremely selfish and should be regarded as abuse of the vulnerable. Trying to turn this into a pity party for yourselves is disgraceful. Thank God they are finally at peace despite your efforts to keep them in hell.

Yes, I have. Also known as Corporate America.

Thirty years ago when I was in college, I went to a private facility for depression/alcoholism. The food was amazing. Apparently diet is a big part of mental health. Got pretty good at volleyball, too. They wouldn't give me Benadryl as a sleep aid, which at the time I thought was unreasonable. One patient attempted suicide while I was there, but for the most part it was a pleasant experience.

Interesting, r23. At one of the wards I was in, they gave Benadryl to anyone who was having trouble sleeping.

Benadryl, Vistaril and Trazodone is what you will get on a psych ward for sleep.

NO benzos and no Ambien - can be addictive and lead to disinhibition. We don't want you wandering the unit naked and out of it.

I got Ambien on one ward, r25. It didn't help me sleep though.

I was in the psych ward in Columbia Presbyterian hospital for 10 days. At the time, I didn’t think I belonged there and I just sat there quietly waiting to be let out. I was acutely suicidal for months and possibly a year — but I was in denial about it. I thought that was how I was “wired” and that it was normal for me. I used to fantasize (very vividly) about jumping in front of the 6 train and I think that is what did it for my psychiatrist. Looking back, I realize I was getting pretty close to either jumping in front of the train or out of my apartment building window.

Anyway, my 10 day stay was pretty intense. I hung out with some of the more “stable” patients (at least on the surface) and watched TV a lot. I remember an unemployed actor being there and I watched TV with him a lot. I shared a room with an elderly woman who was having ECT and she moaned and cried all night which was tough. There were some young suicidal patients there and also a pregnant bipolar woman who was very manic and tough to take. They also brought in an Asian woman who had gone crazy at the Jitney stop to the Hamptons and been arrested and who was clearly manic.

Looking back, it was a good way for me to get exposed to serious intensive treatment. It started to occur to me that fantasizing about suicide for hours everyday was probably a red flag something was wrong. Years later, I am actually still in treatment. I do group therapy for 3 hours every week. I haven’t had a drink since 2017 and I have to avoid any narcotics whatsoever. I realized that I was suffering from an enormously traumatic upbringing with my mother, who has borderline personality disorder. My childhood was a living hell but I repressed all the memories for years. Now, I actually feel pretty good and am not suicidal at all. I am happily married, live in a new city and have no contact with my mentally I’ll family members. It still takes work to keep on track and make healthy decisions for myself because for all my formative childhood years, I only experienced “crazy” and abuse and cruelty. Takes a long time to learn new patterns of thinking and behaving but it’s definitely possible to do. I still feel persistent feelings of emptiness and sadness, but I have learned to recognize my emotions and practice acceptance and empathy for myself.

Being on a psych ward is hard but it was the best place for me at the time. I believe if I had continued on the path I was on, I wouldn’t be here today.

r4 again. Wow, this thread has stirred up memories.

Some other patients I remember:

A former doctor who had lost his license because he refused to stay medicated for his bipolar disorder. He was very intelligent and had a way of trying to help other patients. He seemed like he'd been a good doctor (a GP) and it struck me as tragic he'd thrown it away.

A woman who was convinced she was pregnant (she was not) and kept telling people she was going to name her baby Strawberry Shortcake.

A guy (I think he was gay, but we never discussed it) who had survived a suicide attempt in his garage. He came to the psych ward from the ICU. He also had a patronizing attitude toward other patients, and I couldn't help but think he'd alienated a lot of people in his life.

A woman who was clearly in an abusive marriage and was one of the more terrified people I've ever seen. She cried all the time. I remember her family visiting and trying to convince her to leave him. He would call her (there were payphones on the ward, in a public place) and yell at her. I still remember the look on her face.

In one of the wards, we had roommates. When the nurse was doing my roommate's intake, I was in bed. He was an older guy (maybe 50s) who had at once time worked as psych nurse. I remember him sobbing and telling staff that he would commit suicide, expect he didn't want to go to hell. It was heartbreaking.

I visited a friend with bipolar disorder in a private clinic in Double Bay- a very prestigious suburb of Sydney- and was shocked at the people who were there. A CEO of a big corporation, socialites, a famous actress, a politician, an almost whose who of upper class Sydney, my friend told me most of this. It made me realize never to judge people with mental illness or those who've had a breakdown as it can happen to anyone, and does. I have a friend who was a very high achiever, successful business woman, a strong intelligent woman who had a depressive breakdown and is now a shadow of her former self who says 'it can happen to anyone, I never thought it would happen to me'.

I have been looking for a psychiatrist who is taking new patients in Toronto, Canada for literally years. I was given one who was totally nuts and should not be a doctor, and a woman shrink who was so radically PC that I couldn’t express a single thought without being censored. I begged her to stop for years and she wouldn’t.

I am just asking if anyone out there knows a psychiatrist taking patients in Toronto. I have asked my GP many times and he says he doesn’t known any one.

Good luck r30

I helped Mary change her image. She was shy and reserved in a cocoon. I gave her tips to appear assertive and helped her host a toga party in the hospital rec room.

Janet Frame's Faces in the Water provides a great account of the days of institutionalization (in New Zealand, anyway)

I probably told these stories before. VA psych ward. One poor man kept trying to insert his penis into the open top of a traffic cone put down on wet floor. A mysterious Christmas poo was left upright in the middle of a hall. A vegetative schizo lived there since World War I for craps sake. What a life.

I remember a psychiatrist telling me that a psych ward is the last place she wants to send people. It’s not a retreat to get some rest. It’s not pleasant. It’s simply to keep you from harming yourself or someone else. It’s not to fix issues but a last resort to keep you out of danger.

I don't know...ask my sister.

I agree, r35. My psych admits were between 2004 and 2008 (I am r4). With that said, the quality of the wards I was on differed a lot.

The first was attached to a private hospital. Patients had their own rooms. There were two groups of patients (I figured this out after I'd spent some time there) and all new admits were placed into Group 1. Those who improved or were higher functioning were placed into Group 2 after a day or two. Life on the ward was very structured. Every day consisted of group therapy, art therapy, talks by guests on various topics, like addiction, meals, visiting hours in the evenings, and a communal meeting attended by all patients and staff. For therapy and other activities, one stayed within their respective group. Skipping meetings and group activities was not an option. Staff would retrieve patients from their room. The ward had one TV and payphones. During any activity, the TV was turned off and the phones were taken off the hook.

The second ward was attached to a public teaching hospital. Everything was optional (other than visits with one's doctor, who was usually accompanied by a retinue of residents and med students). It had similar amenities to the first ward -- art therapy, talks by guests -- but no one was obligated to attend, and thus, many did not. Patients could just stay in their room all day. Or sit in front of the TV all day. (There were five TVs on the unit and they were only turned off at night.) Being a patient there helped me a lot less. I was very depressed and had spent all of my time before my admission lying in bed. I needed structure, even if that structure was imposed by outside forces.

I was also on a third ward, also attached to a private hospital, but I have very few memories of that time.

R32 here. I’d like to talk about my multiple phych Ward and one psychiatric hospital visit with the DL. I will elaborate on my image makeover with Mary and my police escort visit to the psych hospital and strip search by a male doctor who sat on a low to the floor stool and examined my cock.

I worked in public and private hospitals. The private places were not necessarily much better although they often had more activities which provided more structure. One place emphasized mileu therapy and had a mix of people with unusual backgrounds (most of them quite skilled with patients) and those with more mainstream credentials (some of them barely competent) which taught me the value as well as limits of minimizing medication. The quality of the staff environment (are they competent, do they get a long, are they reasonably consistent) makes a bigger difference than whether it's public, private, etc. Even a "nice" hospital is a blow to the self-esteem and some people get institutionalized, esp. after multiple hospitalizations. A small minority of people really benefit from a long stay, although people who are difficult to medicate deserve more opportunity to really try medications in a way that isn't haphazard. For profit ownership and managed care wrecked these places--the stays are now sometimes too short. The for profit companies have been bought and sold numerous times and are saddled with debt which leads to understaffing---they used to admit anyone and took as much insurance money as possible, so managed care cracked down but made it laborious to keep people who really need it.

[quote]Even a "nice" hospital is a blow to the self-esteem

r39 very true.

One of the reasons I don't tell people about my time in psych wards (I'm r4/r11) is that some have eventually used it against me. One guy I dated called me a "mental patient" during an argument, asking something like, "Why should I believe a mental patient.? When we broke up, he also said mockingly, "Now don't go and kill yourself over this." Okay, yes, he was an asshole, but it did make me realize that people may think differently of me, perhaps, if they knew.

On the other hand, I will disclose it if someone tells me first that they have a psych admit in their past.

Updike's only defining feature was his nose. And the actor who played him didn't have a big honker but did have a passing resemblance.

At one point will Russia, Saudi Arabia and/or Jinah just roll tanks in and conquer tweemos- drugged-up, sad and curled into a fetal position? This is our future.

Then they'll just press an app and learn their new language.

Were there railed walkways above holding areas full of patients, like in Suddenly, Last Summer?

R34 I was a psych resident at UCLA and we did overnights at the West LA VA. One night I was asked to check out a patient on the 4th floor. I go to the elevator and the door opens and there is a huge pile of human poop. I waited for it to close and move. Waited again - the only elevator working was the one full of shit.

Aaaah, nights at the VA...

Orange means sex

Spoon means cum

R45 ?

Whenever someone says orange they want to have sex.

Spoon means cum.

I worked with state patients dumped into a far-below-standard nursing home. Troublesome patients woutld somehow end up with insulin overdoses, one woman was boiled to soup in a bathtub while she screamed, and one older gentleman who was mostly sensible but who had had a double prefrontal lobotomy just walked out the door to the sixth-floor balcony and jumped, leaving a note.

One woman, who had played with Lawrence Welk once (organist and pianist) would play all day. She had a schizoid disorder and it would only show up when you had your back turned. She was a perfect mimic and would use the voices of aides, other patients, and the person at whom she was aiming and would say the nastiest, meanest things. As fast as you could spin your head around she'd be sitting there looking into your eyes with a little puzzled smile.

Another woman would sit in the hall outside the elevator and wait for a stranger or administrator to step out. Always in a dress, as almost all the older women wore dresses - often meaning hospital sack. She was in her 80s. Doors would open, the person would step out, and she'd say, loudly, "Salem, Massachusetts, 1910! GET HIP!" and stick one leg straight up to the ceiling, flashing herself without underwear.

Lily King was in her late 80s. She had killed or maimed her husband and the woman he was fucking.

Meaning Mrs. King no disrespect as I quote her, she explained, " I knew they was back in dat room so I took me my little hatchet and throwed the door open. There they was, flippy-flopping on da bed." At that point she'd put her two hands together and make a push-and-pull shimmy move. "Just a-flippy-flopping on da bay-yed." And then a cackling rendition of whacking him and smacking her and chasing them both around the room as she "chopped dem up good."

Last. One ancient old hooker had had one leg amputated in a New Year's morning, 1946, mishap with a streetcar in Memphis. She was demented but cagey. She'd sit in her wheelchair outside her door and try to pick any man up who came by, thinking the hallway was the street and the cross-hall was a big intersection. She'd sit like a spider and, spotting a potential john, she'd flash big eyes and smile and call to him to "come on over here" and try to negotiate. She'd always want a cigarette and would call one, "Baby Boy." The thing was, Mr. Henry was a proper, Christian, family-man brother in a room down across the hall, and he thought it was his street, too, and every morning he'd dress up to go to work downtown. He'd see her and call her a Jezebel, and tell her what the Lord was going to do with her when her judgement came. She'd tell him to get fucked and a holy war would ensue.

Horrible place. I was very young and was trying to help a friend who worked there to DO something better.

R48 wins!

R48, what is this horror film you're showing 😱

Is r45 posting from the psych ward?

In grade 8, a month before I turned 14 (1979), I started having problems going to school. It was very bad. I’d walk there every day, but could not go through the gates. I’d never had problems like this before. I was eventually diagnosed with school phobia and hospitalized in our hospital’s psychiatric ward for a month. I missed 3 months of school.

What I remember about the psychiatric ward is that it was no place for a young teenager. I had to share a room with another male and we had to line up to receive our medication. There were group sessions as well which I hated because they were all adults. I was basically put there because nothing they tried worked. The psychiatrist said he could monitor me better there.

To demonstrate the brilliance of the people handling my situation, a group of us were taken for a night out to the movies - to some vampire movie. Not the kind of show you want to take a group like this as some of the patients freaked out.

I’ve continued to have anxiety, panic attacks and social phobia for the past 43 years and have always been on medication. I’ve done well, though, considering I have a job that pushes me to deal with people every day, but it’s very challenging. I have so much garbage in my head.

Spoon does mean cum! Even though I learned about it at Andrew McFarland Zone Center, it’s still true!