How does it feel to be in a mental hospital?

How does it feel to be in a mental hospital?

How To Give a Photo a Creepy Mental Hospital Feel

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answers (16)

Answer 1
May, 2021

It is very sad and traumatic to lie in a psychiatric hospital, since it is under the supervision of doctors that the patient is most acutely aware of his illness and the so-called "helplessness of the disease." A psychiatric hospital strongly escapes the logic and intellect of the patient, since they are based on restricting and suppressing the freedom and thought process of the patients. What is shown in films and commercials is very different from real hospitals, where rather strict conditions and smartphones are prohibited.

Answer 2
May, 2021

Ok, in principle. I have been lying for about a month, but I am terribly drawn home. You literally count the days until you leave. We are not tied, do not inject with chlorpromazine, do not force us to take pills. There is a good toilet and shower. And they treat us like people. But this is a paid hospital, that's the point. I can't say how people live in an ordinary PND .. But if you go to bed for a fee, then there is nothing to be afraid of.

Answer 3
May, 2021

In a psychiatric hospital, you can relax - you don't have to do anything, eat well, sleep well, observe the regime, read a lot, and plus all this is the opportunity to communicate with such people, with whom you would never have communicated under other circumstances. In short, cool in a dork.

Answer 4
May, 2021

It's boring, there is often nothing to do there, if there is someone more or less sane, you can talk and squirm, in fact, that's all. You draw, read a book and so on every day. But here it depends in which department and hospital. The rules may differ slightly. Very depressing from my experience. Shabby walls, the toilet is in formation and in plain sight, barking professionally deformed nurses and nurses, a telephone (the player and so on is taken away), it is impossible to wash completely every day, sometimes clothes are taken away and issued by the state. You still go through the hell of the side effects of your drugs, and the doctors do not waste time on trifles, until a lot of time will pass for you. And you can also see some subtle life seeing the symptoms of other patients

Answer 5
May, 2021

To a large extent, it depends on which hospital you are in. When I was 17, I ended up in a psychiatric clinic in Moscow, where everything was relatively decent. I didn't lie for long, so I didn't get further than the boxes. And boxing is a small room of 3 walls, the 4th one replaces a huge window into the corridor through which you are being watched. There is also a camera, which is watched by the nurses at the post. The toilet and bath are closed, to get there, you need to knock on the window and wait for your sister. You walk in pajamas or a nightie, which is also given to you there. Personal belongings - one bottle of water and maximum one book. All. Later I moved to my native province, and on my 19th birthday I committed suicide, this is where it gets more interesting. A psychiatric dispensary in the provinces is another matter entirely. Due to my age, I was already in the adult department, where interesting ladies and grandmothers were present. When I entered there, I was undressed, examined, my nails were left, by the way, there was gel polish and in my comatose state I very much asked not to cut them off. The whole department consisted of two parts - violent and calm. Those who have just entered are tied to the bed for a while, but this bypassed me. You don't remember the first days, because you start taking pills, and then you live on schedule. They wake you up at 6-7, make your beds screaming, although breakfast is only at 9. If you want to smoke (and there was even a smoking room there), then after any meal you need to clean the "dining room". The food is disgusting, completely empty. From entertainment only books and TV, on which "Spas" and "Channel One" are shown. From all that has been written, the conclusion is that there is nothing terrible, but when you wake up at night and feel a strange body next to you, you nervously push it and then for another 30 minutes you try to understand what it was. In general, it is very scary, scary to understand that you are there, every time during the premises to wait for your name to be shouted, because this means that today you will talk with a normal person and eat normally. Toilets are always dirty, they are not just dirty, but all in shit. Shared shower at certain hours, where a strange grandmother with bedsores rubs against you. I still dream of those people, cursing nurses and terrible metal beds. Believe me, this is not the best place for your summer vacation.

Answer 6
May, 2021

I don't know how this happens in normal countries, but I can tell you about the unrecognized republic in which I live.

In the building of the mental hospital, a handle has been torn from the front door. It is kept by one of the chief doctors, and in order for someone to leave or enter the department, you need to find the chief doctor and ask him for this very handle, otherwise the door simply will not open.

I lay in the winter, there were incredible drafts. Coldly insane. All outer clothing is taken away, and they are not allowed to walk around the department in blankets (for some reason, fucking).

If we talk about people, each of them has very deep eyes. Each of these people saw something that no one else saw. This is hardly relevant to the topic of the question, but I just can not forget one person with bottomless blue eyes. My hand was bandaged, the man looked at my hand and silently began to cry. I went up to him, really wanted to hug him, but did not know how he would react, so I just looked at him and also cried a little. So they stood in silence.

The staff treats you worse than animals. Although, if you take off their robes from most of them, they will not be distinguished from patients at all. For the most part, the staff is filthy. However, I remember two wonderful orderlies who gave me a call (this is strictly prohibited) and a nurse who talked to me for a long, long time and even added me VK: D The doctor also fed me candy, it was also very warm. Doctor. who was assigned to me did not even speak to me. Seriously, not a single word. When I entered the dispensary, I was seen by another doctor (who fed me with sweets). And my officially attending physician did not tell me a single fucking word and ignored all my questions. I still don’t understand what it was.

There is definitely no fucking doing there. Maximum - they are allowed to read books. And glasses are not allowed. So if you have poor eyesight, just lie there and stare at the ceiling for days. Walking around the department is not allowed, but I always left the ward, looked out the window and roared. I didn’t want to be in the ward, because then someone would wear clothes, then they would put the shorts on the battery. In my ward there were two women with an open form of tuberculosis.

There is no hot water. The walls are rotting. Everything is fucking rotting.

But people are incredible. If you had stereotypes about those who are in mental dispensaries, I am sure that they will disappear. Of course, stereotypical guys also meet there. Someone poops for themselves, someone pisses your things, someone shouts constantly, someone walks naked. But there are people who surprise with their warmth. The girl who caught a glimpse of me at the university, and by chance ended up with me in the next room, fed me tangerines. Another woman fed me candy. I focus so much on this kindness because it matters to me. And I didn't give them anything in return. No one came to see me, so I had no food.

Oh, about food! Some of the inhabitants of the dispensary used bread from the canteen as currency, for which I regularly publishwere sent by orderlies.

In short, the dispensary is a place that surprises. Both good and bad.

Answer 7
May, 2021

Terrible! The worst memories in my life, although I was there for only 1.5 days. She went to bed voluntarily, being in the most severe depression and not taking food for 10 days. I understood that I would not be able to cope on my own, and then there were my relatives, they say, lie down, there is a Charcot shower, massage and generally you will rest from adversity. I had a rest, damn it ... I was stoned with something fierce, from which I could not even raise my hand, wipe the saliva running from the corner of my mouth. I thought that peace would descend, but figs there - all bad thoughts remained, as well as memory, and physically almost a vegetable looking at the ceiling, all in saliva and dreaming to get to the toilet on its own. In general, I gave a fight from there almost on all fours, when they took me to the fluorography, I sat out in the bushes in my pajamas until my friends arrived and took me away from there. Well, fuck them, these hospitals!

Answer 8
May, 2021

Patient Kolya: Your eyes, Vasily, are alive.
Me: And what should they be?
Patient Kolya (twirls his finger at his temple).

(c) from what was written in Durka

FIRST DURKA

I have depression, with which I got into Durka in the first year (I was sixteen). It was a children's department - and I still remember it as a place where, for once, I managed to have a good rest.

Cheerful teenagers who need something to occupy themselves. TV, tape recorder, songs with a guitar, walks with the girls, whom the compassionate nurses let us in from the floor above. There was no further walking - nothing rose from the pills below the waist.

One joint for six in the toilet. After him, we sat in the corridor, held a cigarette in front of us vertically and laughed like crazy, to which the medical staff did not pay any attention.

Serega-Mukhomor knew all the pills by heart by color, smell and action. He had been held for the fifth month already because he was terrified of going into the army. He dreamed of going out and puffing normal glue, because under the cyclodol the lump in his throat and the glitches are not the same.

Zhenya-Hawkeye in the break room talked about how he starred in different films, built on the same model ... "I starred as agent 008. And that means I am like that on the island, and over the island there are one hundred and fifty thousand combat helicopters. And I will shoot, shoot, shoot ..." or "I starred as agent 008. And So I am like that on the train, and on the shelves there are one hundred and fifty thousand naked women. And I fuck them, fuck them, fuck them ... "

Dima did not receive any nickname, because he tried to remain invisible. "Can I sit with you in the same room? I won't interfere?"

On weekends, those who are not violent, not seizure and not Seryoga-Mukhomor were allowed to go home. On Mondays, I traditionally carried two and a half liters of beer in my bag, which the entire chamber eagerly pounced on.

It was forbidden to transfer cigarettes, but it was not forbidden to smoke. It was there that I became addicted to this habit, because we ran out of nothing to smoke every fifteen minutes. It was forbidden to transfer coffee and pour boiling water to us so that we could not drink it, so we poured coffee into tea, jelly and kefir.

In general, it almost did not resemble a closed institution where orderlies are mocked at you and are treated with electric shock. The medical staff is friendly and attentive, the aunts willingly listened to our concerts (I even have a tape somewhere where I sing "Aegey!"
SECOND DURKA

It happened a few years later. A psychiatrist in another city where I lived at that time, in a private conversation, identified the cockroaches in my head as a schizoaffective disorder. How schizo it was, I, due to ignorance of the materiel, could not determine. But since an adult aunt said to be treated with risperidone, then, probably, it should be so. Moreover, risperidone helped to disable the obsessive thought “life is life is life is life is life is shit”. Like the sune other thoughts.

Upon returning to my hometown, I went to the next appointment with the local psychiatrist (we were not familiar - after the first fool, I had another psychiatrist). I am an obedient and honest boy, therefore, having complained about the state of extreme shitty life, I told her what another adult aunt said and how she treated me.

This information turned out to be just enough to send me to the wrong place with a diagnosis "schizoaffective disorder" to be treated with risperidone. Apparently, fearing that I would not get there, jumping on the way from the bridge into the river, the psychiatrist called an ambulance. No convictions that I can walk on my own did not help.

There are no healthy people - there are unexamined ones, and when you get to a psychiatrist in our country, you become a mentally damaged patient. The psychiatrist must act strictly according to the instructions, because if he steps back from it and the patient cuts his veins with a piece of glass, then the psychiatrist can be jailed. The psychiatrist is not interested in anything other than this. My district police officer was not even interested in whether someone really diagnosed me with schizoaffective disorder, or if I invented it myself, and at the same time a diagnostician and a method of treatment.

I'm not talking about all psychiatrists, but only about this shit that was treating me.

Patient Stas: Vasya, they keep me here, fuck, four months, fuck. On chlorpromazine, damn it. In the oversight room, fuck. I'm fifty-three years old, fuck. And outside the window, damn it, summer, damn it and women, fuck it.
(c) from what was written in the durka

The second Durka had nothing to do with the first. Peeling paint on the walls. Restroom locked with a key (opened only on visits with relatives). Cramped wards without bedside tables (eleven beds were squeezed into our ward, designed for four).

It all started with the surveillance ward, where the orderly was always at the exit. From clothes - hospital pajamas without pockets. Dressing gowns with pockets are given to those who are not supervised. You can only go to the toilet opposite the surveillance. Walking - on a patch near the toilet.

The attending physician did not make rounds. She swept by the wind through the entire compartment to her office and locked herself there. It was impossible to catch her. In four weeks, I spoke to her only five times. I managed to tell about my condition only in the middle of the third week, and the condition was terrifying.

Risperidone, despite its class of atypical antipsychotics, caused me the same side effects as typical antipsychotics. Stiffness of movements, complete absence of thoughts, quickly arising fatigue from any actions (in order to peel an egg at breakfast, I had to rest three times), inability to read, an obsessive desire to constantly move my arms, legs and tongue, jaw spasms, dripping saliva. ..

A so-called corrector (usually cyclodol) is prescribed for this, but my aunt-doctor refused to give it to me. Why? Because she knows very well that I will trade Cyclodol for cigarettes, and she even knows who has it.

There were four alcoholics in our warda, three drug addicts, two suicides on the basis of AIDS, one completely normal grandfather who was thrown into a fool by relatives because of an apartment - and me, whom they tried to save from severe depression by turning off thoughts and dripping drool.

Were there real psychos in the department? Certainly, there were definitely a few.

A Jew who believed in Christ and got fucked on this basis.

An immobilized grandfather who could wake up in the middle of the night and howl: "Hitler Hitler Hitler Hitler Hitler Hitler Hitler!" p>

Sasha, who always ran around the compartment with a bag (there were bananas there), very fussy and indistinctly singing one line from the classic rock ("Turifuri! Ovruri! Turifuri! Fmoook he fe vooter, fayin fe fkai!"), and sometimes he started yelling and banging against the walls, which is why he was tied to a bed in a single room.

Vanya, who asked everyone to smoke, posing as the lead singer of the "Aria" group and promising to give a T-shirt with an autograph for a cigarette .

The rest were completely normal people (apart from alcoholism or apathy). But it was difficult to talk to them - the jaws refused to obey, and thoughts were clothed in words. True, there were no thoughts, except "I need to smoke while there is no one in the toilet" and "When will they let me out of here?" In addition, while I was in the dork, my wife decided to divorce me.

Needless to say, depression, looking at this, moved into my head with suitcases, chests, a bookcase and a small photo of the hanged man a kitten, which I placed somewhere in the corpus callosum area.

In the hope of expelling her from there, I began to study mental disorders, psychiatry, psychology, psychotherapy and psychopharmacology, and since I am an inquisitive boy, this chain ended with psychoactive substances , which I began to use first orally, then through the nose, then intramuscularly and finally intravenously. In my third year of practical intravenous study of psychoactive substances, I shook off acute stimulatory psychosis with which I went to the durk for the third time.

THIRD DURK

Patient G.V .: Do you think you are in a madhouse? Heh ... The madhouse is there, behind the fence. And we have a small branch here.
(c) from what was recorded in the Durkee

I was not violent, I was just in a state of extreme anxiety, seeing an employee of the State Tax Committee in every encounter. However, I was ready to cooperate with the investigation. In any case, there was no need to wring my hands, as the orderlies did. But I realized that in prison they would hardly treat me better, so all I needed was a drip with something sedative.

I walked around the little patch near the supervisory ward about six hundred or seven hundred times while listening to the interrogation of my parents by drug control officers on TV. Several times cops disguised as psychos tried to offer me a labeled cigarette. But of course, they attacked the wrong one. Why would I substitute myself once more when my parents are being interrogated on TV.

KapelThey put the face down only four hours later, when the attending physician deigned to notice a new patient. The next day, I was allowed to go, and the former cops disguised as psychos were laughing merrily at my stories about yesterday and wondering when the parcel would be brought to me.

I asked the doctor when they would release me and was extremely discouraged, when he told me that I should lie for at least a month. With the help of complaints to all sorts of places (as well as to my parents about my condition and the complete senselessness of treating me for anything), I managed to get out after twenty-two years ... sorry, days.

I refused to drink pills. More precisely, I hid it from behind my cheek, and then threw it into the toilet, as did most of the "normal" in previous fools, but then I did not want to consider myself smarter than a doctor. Here I had nothing else to do, and in my head, for the first time soberly looking at the surrounding reality, a thought flashed through my head: "Fuck-a-fly, I'm among psychos!"

Patient Volodya: I'm not crazy, not crazy and not a fool. I have to go to the employment center. Major! Ya. Perduny with helicopters also received pussies from the whole world! And why? With Volodka! Not Satan (laughs). Why fart with helicopters with Volodka? Not understood? Sorry! The Roman Empire also broke its legs with the whole world, we still laugh.

(c) from the record in the durka

Patient Mishiko: I passed Georgia in Rasiysk Faderatsiye. Ay, mine is ashamed, I'm in such a mest. What did you do, uh, bitch, fuck [wife]. He buried his father, half of the parliament of Georgia, Abkhazia, practically the entire Central Committee was at the funeral, what did she do, bitch, fuck. He buried his father, buried his mother, fuck your mother, no respect, such a mesto, ah, so discredit me, fuck your mother.
(c) from the written in durke

A patient with anorexia (confidentially): Kashpirovsky got into my subcortex. Eat the cheese. If not poisoned, I will give you milk to drink. Goat. (dips his fingertip into his mouth and points to the sky) Don't croak.
(c) from recorded in durke

There are almost no walks. For twenty-two days we went outside twice, there we were placed for about forty minutes in a cramped enclosure, fenced with a net, which was locked with a key.

There are no doors in the toilet. The entire corridor is visible. It is not recommended to sit in someone else's ward. There is not a single place in the department where you can stay alone for at least a minute.

You cannot smoke alone either. One cigarette for two can only be smoked in the middle of the night. While you go to the toilet, two to four patients queue up for your cigarette. Old people have burnt fingers - they always get the very tip of a cigarette, almost a filter. This is due to the fact that the staff gives out ten cigarettes per day. Half at six in the morning, half at three in the morning. If you sleep, you'll only get five.

The food is cabbage. Cabbage in the morning, cabbage soup and cabbage in the afternoon, cabbage in the evening, and there is still an addition of cabbage to it, whoever wishes. Any transmission from relatives is snapped up by neighbors nabout the ward in ten minutes. Nothing is left in the refrigerator because it is locked. They open it once a day - at seven in the evening.

Nurse: A cockroach has crawled to your cubicle there.
Barmaid: Fuck him.

(c) from what was written in the durke

Mobile phones are not allowed. Players are not allowed. Laptops are prohibited. No internet. No movies. There is a TV, but on it - only REN TV, only hardcore.

From books - a bunch of Bibles, the Psalter, the lives of numerous saints and a couple of low-standard crime and love stories.

From conversations - swearing, swearing, swearing, who fucked with whom, who was in prison for what, swearing, swearing, swearing, which pill is poking, where to get boiling water for chifir, swearing, swearing, swearing.

Communication of the medical staff with patients - only obscenities.

For an attempt to download the rights you will be given an extra injection for the evening, from which you will hook all your muscles at midnight.

I have not been to places of imprisonment. But those who were in the same room with me insisted that it was better there. At least you know your term there.

Answer 9
May, 2021

Lied, and many times. conditions are getting tougher year after year. at first it was possible to use a mobile phone there, now it is impossible. At first it was possible to walk outside the bars, now it is impossible. If I became the president of the universe, I would legally abolish any constipation and bars on pain of death! now everyone is embarrassed that I can safely undress logol in front of strangers ... but it remained with me after resuscitation ...

Answer 10
May, 2021

I was in the children's ward of the mental hospital three times, the conditions there are simply disgusting. The ward itself looked pretty decent, with no flaky walls, no straitjackets, and no electroconvulsive therapy on weekends, but staff attitudes and routines were terrible. I don’t want to scare anyone now, let alone dissuade them from treatment, but after the sojourn, I got worse every time.

Nurses behaved like masters, nurses were looking for a reason to prohibit something and snap back. They could go to the toilet when there is someone there and leave the door open. They also knew from somewhere who was lying with what diagnosis: there was another girl with schizophrenia lying with me and during a quiet hour I heard the nurses discussing her. They said that "that schizophrenic from the fourth ward," they discussed how dangerous she was.

All kinds of violence, from psychological to sexual, were widespread in the department. Very often they beat and tied small children, who are five years old, maybe even less.

If in the PND itself there were normal, understanding doctors, then there were none. Psychiatrists did not see a person in me - they saw only a diagnosis. Complaints about depressed mood, insomnia were ignored, everything I heard on the round: “Are there any voices? And what about hallucinations? " Nothing else interested them.

Answer 11
May, 2021

No way, an ordinary hospital. I was lying as a conscript, there were 57 people in the 1st department. 50 patients and 7 conscripts. Mostly drug addicts, drunks, many who were in prison, there are, of course, former servicemen who went through Afghanistan, Chechnya, but there are few of them, there was even one lawyer, there was also one man who was running naked down the street, as he said that at that moment Jesus was with him, and he didn’t care what would happen to him, they would kill him, imprison him or whatever. There are no violent ones, some kind of conflict situations of course arise between patients, but not essential. There are those who just lie, eat and go to the toilet. The rest mostly go here and there, smoke a lot, sometimes ask for something, but mostly they shoot cigarettes. They clean up, wash the floors, bring breakfast, lunch and dinner. Yes - yes, it is the sick who wash the floors. Although the nurses also wash, but only in the morning. Cons: disgusting food, and possible theft by patients, the main room should not be left empty.

Answer 12
May, 2021

It's quite normal. In any case, for a person like me, who needed this isolation.

Above the story, everything is kind of creepy, I was much more fortunate.

I, in general, a suicide, but for like me there eye and eye. There were many of them, but the rest of the girls were just those who threatened their parents with suicide, played the "blue whale" for fun, and so on. Of course, doctors understand who and what to talk to and what kind of problems someone has, so we were not shoved into one heap to talk about how wonderful life is.

In general, the entire staff was adequate. Despite the strict regime, the stay was comfortable. But because of the transitions from one unstable state to another, my attitude towards the hospital changed from "how good it is that I am here. I feel good here, I am resting" to the point when every minute drags on for an incredibly long walls and looking for ways (legal) how to get out of there as quickly as possible. Now I am very glad that the doctor did not follow my persuasion and the stories that everything was already fine with me.

The food was quite good for itself, the girls were decent, there was something to chat about (we still talk to some day). Of course, all types of communication were prohibited, we could wash normally only once a week, it was impossible to store shampoos in the ward. And in general, you can talk about the restrictions for a long time, there were quite a lot of them.

And yes, there were terrible patients. In my room lay a girl who heard voices at night, she had hallucinations. During this, she screamed, did not control her body, bent in every possible way, strangled herself until the nurses came running and injected her with medicine, putting on a straitjacket. This is not a mockery, but a necessary measure so that she does not harm herself. After about 20 minutes she could walk freely.

Sorry for her, a good kind girl, she tried to help everyone, to make friends with everyone. It can be seen that she is stupid for her age, she has no good education, nothing, but this is because she has to spend half of her life in the hospital. Only her sister came to see her, but quite rarely.

There was a girl with schizophrenia with eating disorders. She already has almost no chance for a normal life, most likely, she will spend it the same way in hospitals. She does not control emotions, speech is very slow, she doesn’t understand much, but she is also a kind soul, tries to join the company, but it’s difficult to be “healthy” with her.

There were many interesting, creepy and funny stories, but overall, I think it was better to lie there than not get there at all. Probably, I was lucky with the hospital itself more than many others, but the experience of treatment in two different psychiatrists shows that if the patient is adequate, then often he is also treated with due understanding.

In general, I do not wish anyone be there. I might not want to know what it is like to be a patient.

Answer 13
May, 2021

An interesting telegram channel of a girl who broadcasts just from the walls of the hospital:

telegram.me

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Answer 14
May, 2021

Scary. Especially before coming of age. I had a very hard fight with a guy when I was 16. He did not control himself at all, he let go of his hands, he was not shy in expressions, but I just loved him very much, as it seemed to me at that time. In general, in one of the quarrels, the neighbors called the police and an ambulance, since he just drove me to hysterics. Well, it was not realistic to adequately accept everything that he then allowed himself in relation to me. I just wanted to die. By the time the ambulance arrived, the police had already separated us and I calmed down, but due to the fact that I expressed suicidal thoughts, they took me by the arms and took me away. And then I was not against it from this hell further. We drove for a very long time. I asked questions about what was there and how, whether it was possible to call my parents, but they ignored me. Even then it was getting scary. They brought it. They forced me to completely undress, gave me some incomprehensible pajamas. Height, weight checked. All scars, bruises, tattoos, piercings, abrasions were recorded. The nail polish and cosmetics were washed off, the nails were cut off. They didn't leave anything of their own on me except my underwear. And they took him to the ward. At first everything was more or less harmless. It was interesting to me. There were 5 people in the ward, and there were more than 10 beds. For the first time I saw such 'real' madmen who laugh, looking at the wall, or completely 'vegetables'. It was already night, they brought me a glass of water and sleeping pills. I could not fall asleep for a long time, after such stress and as I was in a dream. In the morning at 6 we were raised, and I saw everything in a different light. You cannot leave the ward; you are supervised to use the toilet. The first 3 days you lie in a ward for especially violent ones. If you behave normally, then you transfer to 'normal'. Questions are not answered. Calling is strictly prohibited. The food is tasteless and made from plastic dishes. You can't even drink water when you want, because the nurse carries you water for the first three days, and she doesn't give a shit about you, she still needs to be persuaded. During these three days I put handcuffs on you and take you to another building, where you undergo medical examination and send you for a conversation with a psychologist. Here is at least one normal person in three days. She answered all my questions on visits, when what and how. Visits were on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 4 pm to 6 pm and on Saturdays from 11 am to 13. The rest of the time you are completely isolated from the outside world. For three days, I never slept normally more than a couple of hours in a row, despite sleeping pills, since there was a girl in the ward who constantly swayed and sometimes burned loudly when she saw something on the wall. By the way, she lives there. Orphan. Well, she looked a little like a girl. Naturally, there was no care there, so it was a pity to look at her ... On the 4th day I was prescribed treatment and transferred to a normal ward, where there were a lot of normal girls. I've heard so many stories ... After all, they are all PERFECTLY NORMAL, they just found themselves in a difficult life situation. Well, one abnormal was a 14-year-old drug addict who caught wild trips. She was injected with something and spent a day passed out. In short, I held on and thought thatMom will pick me up. No. At the visit, my mother came and said that she had tried, that she had spoken to the head of the department, but, they say, they had no right to let me go even on receipt if she expressed suicidal thoughts. And they will let me go only after a course of treatment in a month. Wow, how I sobbed when I realized all my hopelessness. Mom too. It would seem, what is it, well, lie down for a month, funny pills to drink, mmm ... In addition to complete isolation and the impossibility of contacting anyone, in addition to the fact that someone is constantly watching you, there is cruel treatment. I was quiet, if only they would let go as quickly as possible. But some, whose nerves could not stand it, to whom their parents did not come for reasons unknown to them, began to show themselves, cried, asked for at least one call to their parents. And then they injected them with chlorpromazine, if I'm not mistaken. And tied to the bed for 24 hours. And they added a couple of weeks 'term' Just imagine how terrible such uncertainty is. Every day you live with this meeting with your mother, you wait for her, you count the hours, but she will not come, although she always came. And what to think? What if something happened? What then? Constantly winding yourself up ... It's a lot of stress. 1 time and my mom didn't come. I only found out on the next visit that because of work. And before that I quietly sobbed into my pillow, every day. And then you never know what could have happened ... Scary. And by the way, the hardest thing - pencils, pens, etc. are strictly prohibited. From time to time we had to observe a terrifying spectacle, as the most sick and orphanages were beaten by orderlies. From entertainment, cartoons are the same every day, and books. From books only moronic Russian novels and "Crime and Punishment", which I read twice. You don't wash yourself, but you are washed once a week. Two nurses cut your nails too. One holds, the other cuts. After the pills you can't talk for two hours, your mouth goes numb. And talking there is the only thing that saved. There were many of us, we were constantly talking about something. There was one nurse who told about how in the adult department. Also scary. All there are mostly elderly and unwanted, the attitude of the staff is similar. Lying in a mental hospital is such a test that the rest of the girls and I became very close and talked for a long time after leaving.

Answer 15
May, 2021

At the beginning of November, an ingenious channel appeared in the telegram (Time of fucking stories) - it is led by a girl who is being treated in a psychiatric hospital. Quite interesting reading)

Answer 16
May, 2021

Let me give you a classic example. Many patients walk this path every day. The man got sick. He is being pursued by certain creatures or specific devils, special services. A condemning, commenting, guiding voice sounds in my head. Tormented by nightmares, insomnia, fear. Relatives call an ambulance. The brigade arrives. The man is sure that this brigade is in cahoots with the pursuers. He resists in every possible way, threatens, tries to hit them, run away. But he is fixed with straps on his hands behind his back. The patient is only convinced that he is right.

They bring him to the emergency room. They search for extraneous things. For rent multimedia devices, jewelry, glasses, belts, laces. A medical history is started. The doctor begins to talk - collects anamnesis, assesses the mental state. The patient is sure that the doctor is a secret agent of the special services. Shouts, resists, demands to let him go, spits, swings. The orderlies come to the rescue. The patient is fixed with belts and taken to the department. Items are handed over to the warehouse. The department is placed in the observation room. With persisting aggression, he is fixed to the bed, the nurse fulfills the doctor's prescription (injection of neuroleptics or tranquilizers). Gradually the aggression subsides, medication sleep sets in.

In the morning, the patient opens his eyes - he is in a huge room with 20 strange people. An orderly sits at the entrance and looks at him intently. There are teenagers, and feeble-minded grandfathers, and epileptics, and psychopaths, and delusional patients. He wanted to go to the toilet - he goes to the exit. The orderly stops: "Stop, where did you go? In 30 minutes you will go to the toilet." Half an hour later, a queue of 7 people line up at the entrance to the toilet and the orderly leads everyone to the toilet. Looks closely at the physiological parameters of patients. From such attention, the desire to pee disappears (psychogenic urinary retention), although the bladder is full. In the ward, the urge to pee appears again. The patient goes to the orderly and begs him to let go. If the orderly is in a good mood, the patient is given the opportunity to pee.

The laboratory assistant comes - blood and urine tests are taken.

Breakfast. The nurse calls each ward separately to the dining room. Unbreakable dishes. The food is fresh. Soon the attending physician comes for the round. Meet the patient. Later, other doctors (surgeon, therapist, neurologist) come for examination for possible concomitant pathologies.

Before lunch, you need to do something. Someone is sleeping. Someone while away the time by talking with imaginary interlocutors. Someone gets to know the roommates. Someone looks out the window, someone at the ceiling. Someone is reading.

Lunch. Quiet hour after lunch. Thanks to tranquilizers, you can spend this time asleep. After a quiet hour, the quietest patients are invited for a walk (if the doctor permits). Patients go to a special pen near the ward with a fence under the supervision of a nurse. There is a shop, a flower bed. You can have fun - smoke, chat, sweep, walk around the flower bed, loosen the ground. Sick loving very mucht go for a walk. But not everyone gets such happiness - no more than 15 people at a time (out of 60-80 people in the department).

Again we while away the time until dinner. After dinner, you can call your family (if the doctor has allowed) under the supervision of an orderly. Hang up at 22:00. After an evening injection or a dropper, a deep, good sleep.

Within two days, the court arrives at the hospital. Patients who have not given their consent to hospitalization are invited to the meeting. The judge listens to the doctor and patient and makes a decision. In 90% of cases, the patient is left.

After a few days, the patient feels better. Voices subside, delusional ideas become less relevant. The patient gradually realizes that the doctor is not an intelligence agent, but rather a friend willing to help. The patient eventually agrees to be admitted to hospital.

If all is well, then the patient is transferred to a quieter ward with free access and without the constant supervision of a nurse. Injections and droppers are replaced with pills. Unprecedented opportunities open up before a person: in your free time you can walk along the corridor, meet other patients, play chess, read books, wash the floor, wash the toilet (for this, the orderly can treat you to a cigarette and tell the doctor how good the patient has become - which will speed up the discharge ).

You can see your family three times a week. There is a special dating room for this. A nurse is watching the whole process. Date - no more than 15 minutes. For good behavior, you can talk to loved ones for half an hour.

For especially good behavior, the doctor allows occupational therapy. The patient is allowed to carry food from the catering unit to the department (this is the most honorable occupation - after all, you can eat something), work on the street (remove snow, garbage, loosen the earth), and carry laundry to the washerwoman. For the patient, this means that the treatment is coming to an end.

Well, 1.5 months behind. Voices and delirium seem like a terrible dream. Happy relatives arrive with tears in their eyes. The patient goes home.

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