Going to a Mental Health Hospital Wasn't Like I Thought It'd Be
Editor’s note: This post is based off an individual’s experience.
For so long I was afraid of admitting I had a mental health condition because of the stigma attached to it. If the stigma wasn’t there, maybe I would have gotten the help I need without having to be an inpatient… but this is where life had led me. And as far as it goes, the mental health hospital I went to wasn’t the worst place I’ve ever ended up.
Unlike the stigma says…
The mental health hospital didn’t involve any straight jackets.
While I was an inpatient, I laughed proper belly laughs and made some lifelong friends I couldn’t replace if I tried.
The rooms were quite homely, and I was allowed more things than I’d realized.
No one walked around “like a zombie.” I wasn’t drugged up all the time. They told me why I needed my medication and they let me decide whether or not to take it, unless they believed it was vital to my recovery.
The staff was kind and helpful and in my case absolutely hilarious.
I wasn’t held there like a prison and was allowed to go home and have friends and family visit.
It wasn’t somewhere to be scared or afraid of.
The best thing I ever did was admit I needed help when I did. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here writing to you all today, and today is the first day in my four months of admission that I can finally begin to say I can see a light at the end of a tunnel.
If you need help, please seek it.
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Thinkstock photo by Weedezign