I stayed there for 59 days. Where I was, there were mainly alcoholics and amphetamine addicts, schizos and other psychos, about a third of the total. I am 18. I am a depressed infantile teenager, and this is the reason for my getting there. They let me out without any inquiries, that is, staying in, let's say, such an interesting place will not affect life - no one knows about this. Being there practically did not affect me in any way, but I realized that my condition was ruining me greatly, and I try to fight this. Time and transition to a new age will help me with this.
in Chelyabinsk, the article that "Forcibly Treating Is Prohibited" is maliciously ignored, the orderlies grab the arms from the house, as if you are violent, even if you do not resist, forming a wild psychological trauma of the attack, the orderlies come indiscriminately to just about anyone and many times (twice a month) ..... ignoring statements that you have already slept in the hospital and are not going to go to bed ... they put it for a month at least, threatening to court, lie there for 2 months, if the parents do not take it ... waste, clothes are not allowed, only shitty robes, there are no walks, the telly does not work, you can’t call (I don’t have a home one) .... if you show a violent explanation of resistance, it is quite intelligible, the orderlies call security and organize your mating, with an injection intravenous as if you are resisting and you are violent, although you do not ...
I happened to visit the Psychiatric Hospital in 2018. So, all the medical personnel (orderlies and doctors) consider patients to be slaves. For cigarettes and boiling water, patients change their pampers and wash everything. If the orderly is in a bad mood, he will simply fuck you up, tie you to the bed and pump you with sleeping pills. Once they woke me up at half past five in the morning and said that it was my turn to wash the ward. I refused - and there and then began a shout to the entire department, they say you lie here for free - you need to work out. Thank God I had a phone, I waved to them, they say I'm taking pictures of everything behind me. I had my own cigarettes, but I never saw boiling water again. Then I poked them with the charter that I was at the stand with information. They clearly did not read his stump and did not react at all to their violations. The head physician said that all this is in the order of things. There was no normal water there, if you want to drink, drink STEIN water from the tap. The bugs ate all the hands, I was very afraid to transfer this infection home. Conclusion - a normal person will not go to work there, only offended by life, in order to at least have power over someone. By the way, this is a hospital in the village of Christmas, Kaluga region. Once I was lying in Kashchenko, there is a completely different atmosphere - constant checks do not allow the staff to become animals. Conclusion: the farther from Moscow, the tougher the conditions
I was in the hospital 3 times. First time at the NCPZ. A very nice hospital. The doctors are really trying to help. When you come there for an appointment, first one doctor talks to you, then several, then another doctor. Already in the department, all the doctors (there were about 10 of them) again accept again, ask questions and the head of the department appoints you your doctor who will deal with you. The appointed doctor talks to you every day, writes everything down for you. He listens very attentively and answers all questions. It can be seen that he is trying to help. I was in the sanatorium department and in the acute. in Sanatorium and boys and girls. There are a lot of young people. Most of whom I talked to either study or work. There is one ward, where more "sick" ones are, and more supervision is behind them, but there were no incidents in the sanatorium. In the acute one, two fought once. They were separated and taken to the wards. Doctors immediately talk to him, find out the reason. Nobody immediately gets a sedative, so that would knock it out for a day. Psychologists are engaged. Sometimes students come, you can talk to them of your own free will. In general, I liked the NCPZ in the sanatorium department. The second time they put it in spicy food as there were no places in the sanatorium. There were different people, mostly sociable and kind. There was one who looked quite healthy, maybe he paid to get rid of the army, I don't know. But the fact that the money is there so that they would not be registered, I know for sure: the patients themselves told me about it. The department had wi-fi, ping-pond, a big TV with HDMI, the guys brought PS3 and XBOX 360. We played FIFA and Tekken. We played Dota first over wi-fi. In general, it was fun.
The third time I was in the hospital. Alekseeva. Not of his own free will, it happened, he freaked out, but they forced him to sign that on their own they were threatened with court. Here is complete hell. One doctor talked to me at the reception and that's it, no one came to me anymore, and in general the doctors did not approach anyone. There are only 2 doctors, plus the head office. They work in shifts, drive Infinity. That is, they work somewhere in private clinics, but here it is so easy that a penny drips into the account. They don't talk to anyone at all. Sometimes when they come to talk to the sisters, a crowd of sick people gathers around them, everyone is shouting something, begging, and they just walk with a smile on their face and do not pay attention to anyone. Everyone is given the same medicine - Aminazin. From him the muscles of the neck and back are cramping: Once I was lying on the bed and my muscles began to constrict terribly: no one even came to me to remove this side effect, I wriggled like a snake and moaned in pain for about half an hour. Once I found a moment when the doctor stood alone and explained to her that I had been taking Seroquel (a Danish drug, very expensive) for several years and asked me to prescribe it. In response I heard: "Seroquel dear, dear seroquel ..." and that's it: she turned around and left. There are a lot of patients: more than beds. As a result, some sleep on benches stacked together. Most of them are alcoholics, but there are also completely terminally ill patients. FROMat first they put me in ward 6, where the sicker ones are. Then a place was vacated in the 1st ward and I was transferred. About a week has already passed and I felt very bad, tk. I didn’t drink Seroquel. The mood was lousy, I felt sick, I couldn't eat, I had tremors and severe sweating, in general, typical symptoms of withdrawal like a drug addict. I lay down on a new, more comfortable bed and decided to sleep. Then one of the patients comes up to my bed and takes a spoon from my bedside table. I snatched this spoon from him and said with irritation that I had to ask before taking other people's things (I usually don't do that and behave politely, even if I get annoyed, but I was in a bad state because I hadn't taken Seroquel for a long time) ... He also got angry in response, shouted that he thought she was "Seryogina" (He did not know my name, "Seryoga" was lying next to me) and kicked me, I managed to close, but then he also punched me in the temple. I have a red mark on my temple. I called my sister, told her what happened. She went up to him, called him by name (I don't remember his name), and asked him why he did it. He said that he did not hit me, but a red mark on my temple from the fact that I was "lying down." The sister asked the others if there was a fight, everyone confirmed that they had not seen anything, and she came up to me, examined my temple and said: "Oh, exactly, as if I was lying down." I asked to be transferred to another ward. Then I asked to be allowed to see a doctor. When the same sister opened the door for me, she said that I was not behaving "correctly", but she opened the door and let me see a doctor. I told her everything, she went to figure it out, this guy denied everything, and his friends also complained about me that I was sick right in the sink. Yes, it was so, but the doctor was to blame for this. did not give me Seroquel. It all ended in nothing. Plus, another "authority" began to pester me. I refused to wash the floors because considered that he was not obliged to do this, So this old stump told me that now I will be "punished" for my behavior (he meant that he tried to achieve justice, so that the one who hit me would be punished at least with a warning, and asked to apologize, then my mother told me that schizophrenia is supposedly characterized by a desire to achieve mystical justice, but as far as I know, schizophrenia is characterized by delusions, hallucinations and ideas of relationships), as he put it, to wash the floors every day for everyone. I naturally sent him, and asked him if he was afraid that he would be "punished". I called my father and mother and told them everything that they would help me. But when they arrived, they could not do anything, I cried, and when I asked my mother to pick me up, then in response from the sisters I heard indignation: "But this is what it is!" While mom and dad talked to the doctor. The sisters quietly called me into the office and injected a whole syringe of a sedative, after about 20 minutes I fell asleep and slept until lunch the next day, I only remember that at night these sisters came and put pills in my mouth and threw them back on the bed (they did not put them down carefully, but exactly brThe next day a psychologist came to me and asked me to go with her. She started asking me what had happened, and when I told him, she asked if it seemed to me that he hit me, if I was “sure”. That he cannot believe it, because he is so "good": he writes poetry to her, such that "Pushkin smokes on the sidelines"))). At the same time, he looks like a typical drunk: unwashed long hair, some of the front teeth are missing, the remaining ones have turned black, thin, pimply, with traces of acne, in general, terrible and disgusting: a person clearly does not take care of himself. After the hospital, I met him several times on the street: he lives in the same area where I am, in the hospital at the place of registration. He was so drunk that he staggered past that he did not even recognize me, while there was still some woman with him ten times worse than him: two pair of boots. I told her that when he beat me, then staggered like a drunk. She replied that yes he was "drinking". Moreover, it is freely released at any time. Once when we went to the examination (earlier I wrote for an MRI, but there is no MRI, it is too expensive, there is an MRI in the NCPZ and the Japanese company mitsubushi seems to be, I don't remember exactly, and the examination is done for free if you are in the hospital, but I must sign up), I saw him sitting drunk on a bench in the street: he sat with a contented expression on his face and half-lidded eyelids. His other "friends" also asked him to buy them alcohol, rolled up the sheets and thrust them through the window, then lifted them with a tied package of vodka and beer, which they drank together on the sly. In general, this is how alcoholism is "treated" there. They also often brew a strong brew and drink it together. Doctors know about it, but they do nothing. Then I, together with my mother, still got the doctor to prescribe Seroquel for me. The doctor did this without much enthusiasm, she clearly did not believe that he would help me. The next day, everything went away. I was sitting on a chair in the hallway in a good mood and well-being. The doctor passing by, stopped, looked at me with surprise, bulging eyes and asked: what's wrong with you? I say, I slept well, I feel good. After some time I was discharged. Mom asked this doctor if I could get quetiapine for free. She replied: "Of course, he only needs Seroquel to drink, drink and drink!" and diagnosed me so that I could get these expensive medicines for free, this is the only benefit from this doctor and from staying in this hospital in general.
I read the answers and understand how lucky I am. During the year she was in a serious depression, did not leave the house, constant tantrums, obsessions, hallucinations and an absolute unwillingness to live. The doctor advised me to go to the clinic, to whom a friend took me, but several months passed before I was able to prove to others and to myself that "something is wrong with me." My parents resisted to the last, but when I packed my things and waited for my departure to the nearest fool near the devil on Easter cakes, they realized what was happening and, after so much time, energy, nerves, helped me. They, like me, perfectly understood that I would probably return from the free clinic as a drooling vegetable, and this would not help at all, so they took me to a private one, where they were given to understand that there was a problem and it needed to be solved. I spent literally a week there, maybe a little more, all this time they gave me medications and put IVs non-stop, so I slept almost all the time. But staying there can even be called rather pleasant, like a sanatorium, where everyone is cute, sympathetic, they feed you like slaughter, but tasty, and even bring you to your room (yes, to a separate room with a TV and Wi-Fi), if not strength to rise. Only the bars on the windows, the hospital smell and the absence of locks on the doors to the room and toilet reminded that this was a clinic. In general, such prompt and high-quality treatment helped me in the shortest possible time, now I am in remission and I am much better. Therefore, please be responsible when choosing a place. I understand that not everyone has funds for paid medical services, but it is better to break your piggy bank or go through all the information about free clinics, choosing a place where you will actually be helped, and not stuffed with anything, bringing additional mental trauma. Do not hesitate to ask your friends and family for help, because if not for them, there would be another post about the terrible conditions of psychiatric hospitals. Be healthy, and, as they say, take care of yourself and your loved ones)
I was not there for long, but there are a couple of things.
My room was opposite the dining room, and there was a clock in the dining room, I could always see them - I always knew what time it was. There were no more hours in the department. So, we had a grandmother who woke up every night exactly (!) At 3 in the morning! It is not clear how, after all, there are no alarm clocks. She woke up and sang obscene songs to the entire department for 15 minutes, after which she fell asleep safely.
There was another man who became my idol. He got there due to some strange circumstances and did not want to put up with it. He constantly resisted injections and taking pills, etc. Once he walked along the corridor, where there were several benches, chairs and something else. He walked, describing it all methodically, with tact and arrangement, a nurse passed by, followed by a short dialogue that stuck in my memory
-I'm crazy or not crazy!?!?
The nurse was at a loss for several seconds, after which she just went about her business. And this wonderful man carried everything in the corridor, reaching his room at the end of it, and just peacefully sat down on the bed.
I was once or twice in my first year. We had laboratory classes there. So that students have an idea of people with intellectual disabilities. And there, accordingly, such people live until their death (they were abandoned by relatives or for some other reason). It is clear that not only they make up the main contingent of mental hospitals, but there are some.
The atmosphere presses. Already uncomfortable from the fact that the door handles are only on the front side of the door. Met the head of the department. I gave a short lecture. She said that on the eve of the night it took the entire staff of the shift to calm down the violent newcomer. They also took (called by passers-by) a man who rode naked in public transport in winter. A lot of information. And in the end she said that almost all people have psychologic disorders (only to varying degrees). The most important thing is that human behavior is not dangerous for society.
Then they took me, showed the room that was given to people with intellectual disabilities for leisure. There they knit, embroider, paint. I would like to note that if they get down to business, then they do it eighth meticulously. What remained in the memory ... Two men of about forty could not share a chair. They just stood there pulling him, getting nervous. The girl in the hat. Not because it's cold, but because from time to time they bang their heads against the wall. A girl with Down syndrome who fringed a napkin with yarn. Thread to thread. Very carefully.
Then we walked along the corridor. We went to the men's department. The men were sitting in the hallway. I peered into their faces. It seems nothing special. There were young guys, older men. They look like ordinary people. A couple more steps ... And then the exclamation: "Oh, the meat is coming."
We went into the room where they are watching TV. We invited people with schizophrenia and intellectual disabilities. We met. You ask questions. To the question "why are you here" someone answered "there is not enough lithium in the blood." There was a man who told how he would have invented everything from wood, even laptops. In short, someone still lives in the USSR, who loves songs of the nineties and sang to us, etc.
Then she went outside and became scared. You have such a feeling that at the bus stop you are surrounded by mentally ill people.
I was lying in a relatively quiet department: depressed patients, religious fanatics, non-violent schizophrenics, epileptics. If someone suddenly raged, they tied him to the bed with towels and injected with haloperidol, if they went overboard with a riot, they would go to another department. Of personal belongings, only hygiene products and linen with socks were allowed, hospital clothes were issued. The door to the department is iron, without a handle, the staff had handles.
People are different, many were lying in order to get through the WTC and get a disability; some did not speak and were completely detached; some are quite normal, until they hear voices in their heads and start walking for several hours in the corridor back and forth, not paying attention to anything. I remember well the girl who spoke in poetry (mostly she used obscenities at the staff), who sat for hours on the bed, staring at one point. Once I had to talk to her and she looked somewhere through me, her face without facial expressions, speech without intonation - she was very scared and afraid until she was transferred to another department (she began to rage and several orderlies carried her out), later I learned that She has been lying for more than two years and without improvement.
I was in bed for a month and a half, this is the minimum for treatment, then the treatment continues in the day hospital. They were not allowed home (even for the new year), they were not taken for walks (except that they were once taken to another building for medical examination, where in the queue to the doctor they had to stand next to the patients from the prison building - in handcuffs and with guards), only accompanied when relatives came to visit.
Some unpleasant memories, in general.
I was personally in a psychiatric hospital for a month. It was the second month of summer, I had just graduated from college and thought about further admission, flunked the exam and was terribly depressed by this, plus, besides, I wanted to enter a specialty that was not offered by my parents and had a fight with them. There was a nervous breakdown, my parents called the ambulance and they took me away with them. In the hospital itself, we sat in the doctor's waiting room. He took anamnesis from his parents (I was not asked much, but in general, I was not against "getting tested", alas, it was my mistake when I thought so). In the end, I stayed, the nurse took me to the next room and asked me to take a shower and change into a local "uniform" - a heavy large robe and a long shirt, since my hair was long, I was allowed to leave an elastic band, but all jewelry (I wore an earring and a ring ) was asked to remove. After the above procedures, they were taken immediately to the department. At first they put them in the ward for newcomers, absolutely everyone was there upon admission, but some of them did not leave at all due to the violence, while others returned there if they were aggressive. Upon arrival, I was given bedding, which I made myself, trying to hide my disgust for the terrible stains on the mattresses, and after that the nurse gave me a very painful injection in the butt point so that I fell asleep as soon as possible. In the morning my doctor came to examine me, asked questions about why I was here, didn’t say anything to me, and I didn’t ask, because I didn’t understand much about the medications I was taking, which were injected every evening. I was in this ward for probably five days or so. During all this time, I did not remember much about the hospital. I still don't know what the injections were, but it was absolutely impossible to think from this, plus I felt even greater emotional instability than before - when my parents were able to visit (it was possible to visit twice a week, about an hour), I could hardly speak coherently and I was very shaken , one of the other times I just burst into tears when it was time for my parents to leave. After I was transferred to the obyskaya ward - four beds, in the neighbors - an old man with a religious bias, a guy who suffers from insomnia and excessive activity and is quiet, I don't know what happened to him, but sometimes he shared sweets and bread with me if he saw me hungry ... In the ward, everyone had their own bedside locker for things. During the translation, they gave out more decent clothes - pants, a T-shirt and a robe, more or less in size. The injections no longer injected and the consciousness cleared up, they gave pills to calm the nerves (every day, twice a nurse walked down the corridor and shouted names). There was a leisure room with a TV set and a large bookcase, in which a large place was occupied by Daria Dantsova's books, military books and a couple of good books like Captain Blood's Odessa and Martin Eden, and he begged for the rest of the reading from his parents. They fed horribly: for breakfast, cereal and bread (bread, if left, was fucked by my roommate - grandpa, and handed out to those who wanted to, if they were hungry in between waspsnew nutrition. For lunch there was meat / sausages with a side dish, rather poorly and without salt, which had to be begged from neighbors, grandfather also fucked up bread. For dinner there was soup or something more or less sweet (once a week). At first I ate everything, but later I realized that my stomach was intolerant of soups and I stopped going to dinner and gave my portion of sweet once a week to whoever asked. Nobody forced you to eat if you didn't want to, but since they were fed little and meagerly, few refused. Parents carried something tasty twice a week, and it was hard not to restrain themselves from eating everything at once, but to stretch the pleasure for a longer time. The toilets were a large room with three toilets without partitions, which confused me at first, but no one was looking, so I began to take it easier. They took a shower once a week and all in a crowd, for some hour all sixty people from the department, including the old people sitting in wheelchairs, had to have time to wash, after which the water supply to the showers was stopped. There were no partitions either. After that, the orderlies gave out one or two of the most adequate scissors for cutting nails.
As for leisure, when you are considered ready enough for social life, you are practically forced to go everywhere. At first, on enthusiasm, I agreed to everything - there were anti-stress coloring pages, ala 90 disco (you can just sit and listen to music), lectures on art and nature, just a hobby of a circle, where you could even embroider with a cross, even sculpt sculptures, and, my unloved , walks. Honestly, I hated it with all my heart, because while we were being led into a small area enclosed by a high brick fence, we passed through the day hospital and I felt sad from the sight of nature and freedom. A small square area with neat even paths and benches, bright colors only depressing, especially looking at the walls painted in yak colors around. It was impossible not to walk - the psychologist would write it down and send it anyway. The orderlies forced me to clean up the wards, which I rarely and reluctantly did, as the neighbors often felt sorry for me, because I always slept for a long time. They did not follow the rise, but after lights out, it was only possible to go to the toilet for a short time, and then they would ask if there were any problems with sleep.
There were health examinations, ecg, blood tests, minor pulse checks, pressure and psychological tests. Another interesting thing, since I am an adult, when my parents asked about the diagnosis, they were refused, citing that they could only tell me. I asked, they answered me, but very quickly and I asked to repeat and tell me about this diagnosis for a better understanding of the scale of the problem, but I was refused and told that it was better for me not to know. I was diagnosed with schizoid disorder, which bears little resemblance to the truth due to emotionality. But I won't argue with a psychiatrist.
I haven't seen recaptured psychopaths, there are people who really have serious problems, but they mostly roamed aboutcorridors, exactly along the same route and muttering or sitting, staring into the void. There was one thieving guy who fucked food straight from the bedside tables, but apparently he liked me, and if I left the food, and he came up, he usually asked me not very clearly if it was possible. He was discharged with me by the way. Many of those who were in my ward were abandoned by their relatives, an old religious man was abandoned by his son for housing in the city center (St. Petersburg), one old man surrendered himself, as he could not be alone in the apartment while his daughter was at work.
In general, people there are deeply unhappy, the howling drags on for a long time, and you practically don't know until the end that you will be released for sure. The doctor, in general, talked to me for the whole time twice. I still do not understand what the statement actually depends on. I was glad to be discharged and I will not do such stupidity again. However, it is still hard for me when someone even jokingly says that I am strange - I perceive it very sharply and painfully. After that, there was a prolonged period of depression, which I now cope with on my own and with the support of those close to me.
I was not in the mental hospital, but the referral was issued. The psychiatrist wrote something like "a depressive episode of moderate severity, cut my hands, dangerous for myself and others." The latter slightly alarmed, but the mother sitting next to me did not react in any way (despite the fact that the psychiatrist uttered these words already twice), and my suspicions subsided.
However, on Sunday (I had to go on Monday) my mother I reread the direction, and thank God that she did it, because after the direction we read reviews for the mental hospital (which were similar to those described in most comments - injections, pills, from which you are either a vegetable or such decay rolls on you that you lie and can't even cry, the staff treats you like shit, etc., etc.) and they didn't take me anywhere. With this "dangerous for myself and others" I would not have been taken from there yet.
In short, I am sitting at home on antidepressants.
I have a BAR. The first time was in the 15th hospital in Kashirka in Moscow and then I was 17 (now I am 30) years old. I went voluntarily after an attack of psychosis, at the last moment when I was asked to sign a consent to hospitalization, I decided to "give the back", but it was not there. I was tied up by two healthy orderlies who smelled fumes. They asked me to undress, put me in the bathroom under the shower, gave me pajamas and sent me to the department. I had to give for safekeeping a silver ring (save and save), which safely disappeared, as a result, the parents were given 300 rubles for it and said that the orderlies were punished.
I ended up in the acute ward, my condition was really bad and it seems to me that they gave haloperidol, by the way, a very good means for closing the "third eye" and other connections with space - I recommend it. In the department it was really possible to meet children from children's homes, many seemed adequate and talked about their illegal imprisonment here, but this is what most of those who were sent there forcibly say. And if you are not a psychiatrist and, moreover, not their council, it will probably be premature to conclude that a person is not there on business, even more so if you yourself are inadequate at the same time.
What was there. This adolescent department and in general everything was normal, especially when I was transferred to the regular department from the acute. There was a TV, a ping pong table, books, a dining room, and then you could still smoke as much as you liked. Now the offices are stricter and there are cameras in the corridors. There were walks on which it was forbidden to approach the female sex as well as them to us. There is an Orthodox church at the hospital and we were not very active there, but they campaigned and even some aunt came and read a prayer for those who want it to feel better and they recovered. Then I was a believer (now no longer) and went to this church, the psychologically effect was strong and, to be honest, it became easier on my soul. In general, everything was fine. It was then ...
The last time I was lying there three years ago, of course, already in the adult department. Was bad! Food is gruel. A couple of times psychos attacked, one with an iron stool, the second stayed a bit but eventually fell behind, but that's only because I'm a tough guy. Next to me lay my grandfather without a leg who was constantly talking dirty and stinking terribly, I do not blame him for insanity, it was just unpleasant. Now I no longer smoke for 8 years and it was very hard for me to smell this stench from cheap cigarettes because everyone there, including the nannies, smoked. And how do they all swear there, but this can also be understood. In general, yes, the place is not the best, and since the time of Chekhov, there has been cardinally little that has changed in terms of patient comfort, but this is in state institutions. If you want comfort in the treatment of mental illness, then most likely you will have to cook 50K rubles a month, maybe for free, but as I understand it, this is not so simple. Another option is to go to the day hospital with PND, the food is good, the attitude is also normal. But in such things everything is very individual and it is possible to find good specialistsIt's not easy even for money, I know that for sure.
By the way, a good channel there is a lot of useful information https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCUs4YGaEXLUtCzshe-PhbCw
I had a chance to spend about four months in a psychiatric hospital. During this time, I met quite a few different characters:
A guy who, according to him, went crazy after watching the video of Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv. In addition, he periodically shouted at the entire department of JONEY BYME (as it turned out later, this is the real name of the hero of another video.
Another guy who, after being placed in the department, claimed that he was "a man in a woman's body" and offered to “touch his boobs.” After a while, he bounced back and attributed his behavior to the fact that he had not slept for several days.
A boy of 14, destroying everything, including sinks and toilets.
Bitarda with dvach, who went to bed in the hope that he could overcome neuroses and social anxiety.
A guy from a correctional school who told in detail how his mother had sex with two men.
Two (!) ladders with a completely feminine appearance, with one of which they even started a relationship, for which they were famous for flying from nurses and doctors.
Grandfather, 20 years old suffering from schizophrenia, but not admitting this.
He was terribly religious and threatened to write a statement on "Terrible half-women, half-men"
In general, it was a fun place.
So, finally, at least somewhere I can speak about my painful experience.
There is nothing attractive in treatment in psychiatric hospitals. And they don't treat you there. My brother put me down. I then studied at an art school, and the study was very difficult, because I always had to prove that you are the best in your field. Outwardly, I was calm, but inside, emotions raged - wounds from old grievances. My mother did not understand me, so I did not communicate with her. And then one day I exploded over a trifle, my brother called an ambulance, two orderlies in blue put me in a car and we drove to the outskirts of the world.
First, I was taken to the emergency room, where a doctor sat at the table card on me. She said that I had two choices: voluntarily spend a month there, giving my written consent, or they could force me to sign the documents through the court. Having decided that the case could drag on with the court, I put my signature. I spent the night in the emergency room, and then I was transferred to another building.
I was brought to the observation room. It had 30-36 beds. The audience is motley. There I met one schizophrenic who was afraid to get out of bed because he saw snakes, and a drug addict who regretted his life, and two epileptics. There was another funny, but terribly annoying and annoying little boy who was distinguished by hyperactivity and constantly climbed up to someone. When he didn't know what to do, he swayed on the bed, sang: "Seventy years of experience and tradition ..." or sang: "Uuuuu ... battery .... uuuu ... battery ..." , he did it non-stop and sometimes I wanted to punch him.
There was also some guy with depression who was my bedmate. At first he wanted to force me to comb himself, and then it came to the point that he wanted me to wash his PANTS !!! Then I politely refused him that I would not do this, he himself can handle it. After that, he insulted me and continued his nagging with someone else.
Especially violent were tied up, and they had to carry ducks when needed. The patients of the ward did it themselves. Sometimes they were fed. Oh yes the toilets were terrible. There were two of them in the same room and they smelled terribly. It was better not to stand on the floor with bare feet, because it was wet.
Once a week, the chief doctor came to us and made a report on who could be transferred to the "better" ward. Two weeks later, I was transferred to the second floor. Compared to the observation chamber, there was a fairy tale here. It was possible to leave the ward and walk along the corridor (in the first one they follow you, check your condition and therefore are not allowed to leave). On the floor there was a TV and a library with old textbooks and art kits. It was also cold there. Therefore, I preferred not to go there.
The treatment itself consisted of swallowing pills at the doctor's office at a certain time. I had two of them: from one my sleep was normalized, from the other - the nervous system. True, due to the high dose, at first I had a tremor from it, but then it was reduced for me, and everything became normal.
crusaders do not communicate with you, because they have no time. If your name is called, then you need to be examined. I had a trip to the ENT, EEG and some other crap related to impulses. And one psychological test. You just had to mark the option that most accurately described your state or thoughts.
During my stay I felt lousy, I was lonely. I think that even on a desert island I would not have been so sad. There you are like a bird locked in a cage. And there are the same number of birds around you. It seemed to me then that I knew the whole essence of human loneliness. I had no phone or internet. There were books that I asked my mother, but even they did not make me happy, because I did not feel the warmth from the cold, indifferent walls of the hospital. As if the whole world has turned its back on you ...
After such a "sanatorium" I lost 4 kg. Perhaps this was the only plus.
Appreciate your life and the lives of your loved ones. God forbid anyone to be in my place. You will remain the same, but the past will sometimes remind you of yourself, and you will again see the global feeling of losing yourself that you felt there. Love yourself and do something useful. All adversity passes.
I have 4 (!) acquaintances who have had the experience of being in a similar institution. It should be noted that they are wonderful people of their own kind.
Thesis: outside and inside, the institution looks a little better than the scenery for the sweet dreams clip of Marilyn Menson, the territory is fenced with a concrete fence with barbed wire, the institution has many buildings, buildings - branches , in the department there are about 5-7 wards, in each about 10 people, there are bars on the windows, there are no doors, the light is not turned off at night, they leave a night lamp, they cover it with toothpaste so that it does not shine much, rise at 6, lights out at 10, the contingent is motley , guys from the oblast who forgot to learn the multiplication table, and sometimes numbers (see other answers), disobedient orphanages (see other answers), old senile people, drug addicts who were declared insane by a court decision, really mentally retarded people who are not able to connect two words, and of course true schizos who have voices in their heads or even more abruptly, for the especially gifted there is a separate ward where patients safely drool and chew duvet covers (they knit someone), you can also get there for wasps general merits (see. Larina Tanya's answer), telephones are prohibited, cards are prohibited, chess is allowed, the head physician comes once a day and inquires about health, the food is disgusting, taking pills on schedule, chlorpromazine, phenazepam, the lucky ones - haloperidol, from some you catch tupnyak, from others temporarily a vegetable, once a week, a walk in a 10x10 square, time drags on slowly, like in a prison, only when you get out is unknown, maybe in a month, maybe never, there are almost no conflicts, for any offense, I repeat, they are sent to the ward for "special" ones and they are injected intramuscularly. hard substances, so everyone sits quietly and does not twitch, radio is allowed, but not on a quiet hour
It's a pity that you can't anonymously, of course, but what can you do. In general, if we talk about state hospitals, such as # 15, on Kashirka, then it's pretty disgusting. Before getting there, I came across films about fools, where everything is clean and at least somehow interesting, maybe in paid clinics, with double rooms it is, but in the state it is not. Firstly, in such hospitals there is a division into conditionally ill and absolutely ill. The conditionally sick include some unnecessary children from orphanages who did not deserve to go to the camp, against the background of which they ran away from the orphanage and were sent to Durka with a diagnosis of "difficult puberty." Also, to the conditionally sick, i.e. those who do not seem to be inadequate are bulimics / anorexic / drug addicts not at the last stage, manipulators who have scratched their hands / got drunk with pills, prodigal sons, etc. This is about the adolescent department. So everything would be fine, in principle, such an interesting company gathered from my words, no one lets drool, there is something to chat about, and in fact you feel like a camp. But there are 450 "buts". The rest of the team has not been canceled. For 35-40 people, 3 nurses who ate the dog at the antics of psychos, so until you yourself have a nervous breakdown, no one will help you, even if you are physically threatened. For any offense, you are moved to a ward for a week to the inadequate and put on injections of amenazine (ma), I do not remember exactly what is called. This is the worst thing that I had to endure. I was terribly afraid of a girl who was pulling out her hair from her head. She didn't hurt anyone, but one night I woke up and saw that she was putting her torn hair on my pillow.
Plus, any manifestation of your disagreement equates to non-harassment and increases the length of stay. Even if you are 100% right, any dispute or even refusal to wash the floor at the request of a nurse is inadequate.
Clothes. For bad behavior (there are very vague criteria here) your clothes can be taken away from you and given a robe. Very welcome, very humiliating.
Food. The main food is barley porridge. Variations with sugar or Vegeta seasoning. There is no option not to eat. While taking pills, everyone has a monstrous appetite.
There are no mirrors. Those. You hamster barley with buckets for a couple of months, and when you leave the hospital, you look in the mirror in the waiting room and freak out.
You wash under supervision, even if you are adequate. Also very humiliating.
The transmissions from the parents are checked thoroughly. They throw everything on the floor and feel your panties in unison.
The minimum stay is 1 month. No matter what they say, no one is there for less than a month. Regardless of the severity of health.
Stupid social movie about difficult teenagers, drug addicts, etc. Abomination.
Pills. There is a standard set of psychotropic drugs for the conventionally healthy, like the light version, as the doctors put it, but the brains cannot be boiled, it is impossible to read, the thoughts are confused, the desire to sleep.
And time drags on terribly. The regime is not so bad, but the situation is terrible, the doctors will tell the fuck, and no one understands why he is here./ p>
There is a category of problems that can be dealt with without a hospital, which is what I am doing now, I don’t plan to go to the hospital anymore, because my goal is to solve my problems, and not to watch and suffer with other unnecessary people ... It's a pity that there is such a thing, but it exists, and I don't want to see it.
I have not been to the hospital itself.
We have a mental dispensary in our city. It is surrounded by a concrete wall with barbed wire. When I walked past this very dispensary in the evening, I noticed that patients were staring at me, calmly and peacefully, but when I stopped and began to look at them, they grabbed the bars on the windows, started jumping (or something like that, like not very clear) and ran away abruptly. I hurried on from this shit on my business.
According to the stories of the people who worked there.
They are stuffed with medicines and they leave calm and peaceful, but then they blow the tower out of for these drugs and they are taken away again.
I myself, fortunately, have not been, but according to the stories of two acquaintances girls who lived there with schizophrenia or something similar, the conditions are pretty good, this is specifically in St. Petersburg, it's a pity only a large number of orphanages, some live there almost on an ongoing basis because there is nowhere else to go
In 2014, in the direction of the military registration and enlistment office, he was in the department of the regional psychiatric dispensary, which was specially operating for the purposes of military medical examination (as it later turned out, in the same building, but upstairs Mikhail Gorbachev's brother-in-law Evgeny Titarenko lived for a long time). Actually, this department resembled little Durka - rather, a sanatorium for difficult teenagers or something like that. The contingent changed regularly due to admission / discharge, but the general tendency remained stable: I did not manage to see anyone who looked like a spherical psycho in a vacuum (psychochronic patients are examined on an outpatient basis and usually immediately determine category D).
More than half the patients turned out to be residents of the region's districts, who, at the stage of passing the draft board in the military registration and enlistment office, began to be suspected of mild mental retardation (previously it was officially called debility) due to ignorance of the multiplication table and other things in this spirit. There were also conscripts who were discharged, and residents of orphanages, who, as it turned out, were regularly sent to this charitable institution by the management (I still did not understand why). There was also a persona sui generis in the form of a 15-year-old guy (also an orphan, but from a special closed-type institution - an analogue of an educational colony for those who have not reached the age of criminal responsibility); he, unlike the others, came from another department, where, according to him, they really TREAT: mating, pissing beds, that's all.
The actual medical examination consisted of a psychiatrist's consultation (I immediately found a common language with her, because I was fond of this branch of medicine), psychological tests (the same Wechsler test for IQ), traditional analyzes, EEG, examination by a neurologist. Those who did not particularly want to join the army were offered legal options for getting rid of conscription; those who were eager to serve (one guy even went to bed on purpose in order to achieve the A-1 category and then enter the FSB academy) were also given such an opportunity. At the same time, besides me, apparently, no one understood why they were there: by virtue of the current legislation, such a survey can be refused, but there have always been problems with legal understanding in our country (I sometimes had to solve them, explaining certain legal aspects of military duties).
As already mentioned, the atmosphere really resembled a sanatorium: many played computer games, cards, applied to each other (including me) with toothpaste, etc. The staff was also peculiar: in particular, there was one nurse, from whose remarks I constantly got sick (then she also consulted with me on legal issues). I communicated with the doctors regularly, we also immediately found a common language with the head: when he asked me about the capital of Australia and received an answer, he said that he would not ask me again, and it is clear why: I regularly had to see someone cramming the multiplication table (monstrous semblance of a session) or tried to distinguish the island from the peninsula (with somethan similar I then encountered at Moscow State University). In addition, he explained to me that “this is not mental retardation, but laziness and pedagogical neglect,” and I completely agree with him: this is not a problem of psychiatry, but of the educational system.
I remember that day separately. when the department was consecrated: the father of one guy was a clergyman; having arrived to pick up my son on the day of discharge, he, as I understand it, offered to perform this rite. At first, it seemed like it was planned to involve only the staff, but I, using the doctor's confidence, decided to impose too (it’s a sin to miss it), after which everyone was invited: the chief nurse went through the wards and began to announce that "now there will be a holy cause." During the rite, I could hardly restrain my laughter: a month before that I was in Moscow at the final of the Olympiad on the foundations of Orthodox culture, the closing ceremony in the Hall of Church Councils of the HHS was headed by Patriarch Kirill, and against this background the consecration of the mental hospital was especially cool.
The survey lasted a month, and during this time I was perfectly able to take a break from the nightmare school in which I then, let's call it so, studied (it was just the end of grade 11, but I didn't care, because I was already an All-Russian medalist and knew that I would do). I still communicate with some acquaintances from there (it was the same priest's son who later invited me to the DR). Then I found out that in my region things are good with this kind of examinations: in other subjects, conscripts have to live with real patients. Basically, what I saw is an example of how psychiatry in particular and medicine in general should be organized (IMHO).
According to the stories of acquaintances (honestly) it is not very cool there.
A friend who has been there for a while told about her grandmother, who "is in 45 and is constantly looking for her suitcase with things -Where is my suitcase? ?! ", she often asks what the weather is outside the window, and if it's summer outside and you say it's sunny and warm outside, she doesn't believe you, because she sees a constant snowstorm in the window ..
It is not often possible to see typical people from horror films in a psychiatric hospital, since the most aggressive and unbalanced are injected with a "sedative", the frequent use of which turns a person into a "vegetable", and there are times when they never leave this state again.
Don't get there, Ramin.